


Hatred Of A Minute

by JustCantRemember



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: A Shitload of Pining, Anxiety, Appreciate Jenna Rolan, BMC Spiderman AU, Bucketfuls of Emotion, Chloe does some fucked up shit, Depression, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Everyone nearly dies a lot, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Guess who’s still bad at tags, Guilt, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hate Chloe but she’s growing on me, I hate the Squip, I’m creating a ship name for Dustin and Madeline, Jakey D, Jenna Rolan needs love, Literally everyone is oblivious like holy fuck, M/M, Madeline isn’t that bad guys, Mental Health Issues, Michael Mell Protection Squad, Mutual Pining, Oh look it’s another Spiderman!Jeremy AU, Panic Attacks, Passive-Aggressive Bisexuality, Pinkberry, Quoting Songs By Our Favorite Bands, So Much Emotion Good Lord, That Doesn’t Mean I Can’t Still Dream, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Underage Drinking, What Have I Done, Why do I do this to myself, Why have I done this to myself, all relationships are equally balanced here, be more chill has caused me to lose my chill, boyf riends — Freeform, especially rich, even Madeline, everyone has powers, everyone is oblivious, everyone needs love, finally the fluff we needed, fuck that shit, fucking insomnia, graphic depictions of injuries, hell to the no, i don’t know what it is help, i need to stop, like major oblivious, no i am not writing rich’s lisp phonetically, oh and everyone, oh and jeremy, richjake, self hate, self projection? onto my characters? it’s more likely than you think, slight slowburn, so does Christine and Brooke and Michael and Jeremy, the author is working out some shit, unaplogetic references to other musicals, what even is this i dont even know, what is rich’s brother’s name, why are there so many tags goodness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:58:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCantRemember/pseuds/JustCantRemember
Summary: Three months ago, everything was normal.Now, Jeremy is changed. He is someone dangerous, someone powerful. And it’s not through any cause of his own. He’s trouble in blue and red, spandex and nylon. A streak of color, with strange powers.The thing is, Jeremy isn’t your average teenage guy who does nothing but play video games. He’s much more than that.The thing is, he’s not normal. He’s been changed for good.He’s Spiderman.(Aka the Spiderman Au, where the gang has powers, the Squip has minions, and Michael has no fucking idea what the hell is going on with his best friend)





	1. 1| i will try to avoid those eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. Just another Spiderman AU for BMC. It’s great though. I promise. 
> 
> Someone please point out the Wicked reference in this chapter and I will love you forever.
> 
> This fic is not going to be boyf riends central. This is going to include a nearly equal balance of all relationships. I just know that ticks me off when people tag a bunch of different relationships and then focus only on boyf riends. 
> 
> Story title taken from an Edgar Allen Poe quote.
> 
> Chapter from 'Air Catcher' by twenty øne pilots

Three months ago, everything was different.

Three months ago, the play was just a work in progress. It was just a simple thought of a goal they should achieve. Something they worked for, even looked forward to in some cases. A few months came and went, relearning one of the most iconic plays and turning it into a nightmare instead of a fantasy. Boring, for some. A highlighted moment for others.

Three months ago, Jeremy Heere was just a regular kid. His biggest struggles were his homework, school bullies, and his gigantic crush on Christine Canigula. He didn't have to worry about ever being asleep in class because he was out late at night stopping crime and fighting for his life. He never had to worry about walking into school alive the next morning. He never had to worry about keeping secrets.

Three months ago, he had stupid fears such as his lousy excuse for a dad discovering his porn stash on private mode in safari. Three months ago, the biggest fight he was involved in was his inner struggle over his sexuality. Three months ago, there was no outside conflict or confrontation that wasn't already expected. He walked to school and sometimes hitched a ride from his friend (shocker, he actually had one) Michael Mell. He went to class and occasionally got a hello from someone else involved in the play. He went home and did his homework and avoided his dad and hung out with Michael.

Three months ago, there was no worry—at least not any worry this big. The only things that kept him up at night were his anxiety, persistent boners, and the occasional freak out at two in the morning over whether he studied for his chemistry test. He was so childish, he thinks, looking back on who he was three months ago, when the play was just a possibility.

Three months ago, everything was normal.

Now, Jeremy is changed. He is someone dangerous, someone powerful. And it’s not through any cause of his own.

He is incredible.

Different.

Depended on.

Brave.

Cooler than before.

Slightly athletic.

He’s different, and it’s changed his entire attitude and demeanor. No longer is he the person that shivers in the background. He has found confidence in himself and his abilities. He has discovered the meaning of courage. He has become someone who people look for, who people depend on. He has become a person who stands out like a sore thumb but for whom the distinction is what helps him do his job.

He has become someone whose very actions determine the entire existence of other people. He has the power to tip the scales and make a huge difference. He has the power to become someone of importance, someone who has already made a big impression.

He has become an inspiration and a beacon of hope to almost an entire city. He has become someone whose image and likeness is plastered all over the news, the internet, onto toy figurines sold in tourist shops. He’s the person people search for when something goes wrong.

He is depended on, needed, valued. He is treasured, important, influential. He is strong and brave and the name people call in the streets. He is the person to sally forth when something big needs doing and no one else can. He’s probably one of the singular most important people in Jersey City, for no reason other than he is the person who runs into trouble rather than away from it.

On one hand, he loves it. One the other, he wants nothing to do with it.

_Three months ago, Jeremy and the rest of the members of the cast had gathered in Chloe’s house for a ceremonial drink. They had stolen some of that stupid serum thing Mr. Reyes kept pressuring them to drink. Just as a final ‘fuck you’ to this play that was a total disaster. And they had talked, and talked, and drank._

_They had all spent the night, much to Christine’s chagrin, who insisted everyone got a good sleep because of the play. Everyone had piled down––Chloe and Brooke taking the couch, Jeremy in the corner, Jenna in an armchair, Christine on a beanbag chair, and Rich and Jake on the ground in the opposite corner._

_And everything had changed._

Jeremy doesn’t want to be everyone's first line of defense. It’s a mistake to rely on him, because he’s going to mess it all up. He isn’t the best person to place all these hopes on. He has fucking anxiety, he shouldn’t be the one to make the decisions.

_Jeremy had woken up stuck in a pile of cobwebs. He was terrified of spiders. Not only that, but the line of white web had continued to wrap around his wrist. And that was not okay. That was most definitely not normal._

He remembers screaming, that’s for sure. His shrill, piercing scream had woken everyone in the room. It still remains locked away in his brain, the image and feeling and sound attacking him when he’s least ready for it. It still lurks there, no matter how much he tries to banish it. That terrible, horrible scream that marks the moment his life changed forever.

_His scream had woken everyone in the room, and Chloe had let out a shrill shriek before jumping up onto the couch and away from his cobweb covered body. Jenna had scrambled away, before grabbing a duster and holding it like some sort of jousting prop._

_Jeremy had clamped down on his screaming and had tried to free himself, but that just wasn't going to happen. Jake had tried to rip the stuff off him, but only partially succeeded. Brooke had tried to contain her snorting and failed. Her bewilderment had shown through. After all, it wasn’t every day that a friend woke up trapped in a cocoon of spiderwebs._

Jeremy smiles back on how confused they had all been. They've come so far in the three months they've had to figure out what completely transformed all of them. That’s right, not just Jeremy. Everyone else was different too.

 _Once Jake and Rich (with a useless but admirable attempt by Christine) freed Jeremy from his crazy prison, he had started screaming again because he had figured out the webs extended into his wrist veins_.

That would creep any sane person out.

And Jeremy was a sane person back then.

Jeremy stretches his arm above his head and stares at his fingers. They’ve become longer, thinner, slimmer, almost tapered. He’s kept them slightly curled in on themselves, because when he extends them they look scarily like spiders’ legs. Pale, bony spiders’ legs.

Jeremy hates spiders. He’s terrified of them. Always has been. Hopefully not always will be, because for him that would be a miserable existence.

Their long, thin, wire-like legs. Their round, fat, swollen abdomens. Their multiple sets of eyes, searching, searching. The silky slyness of the webs that promise strength and security but are really just a death trap. The hidden places they popped up in: the corners of his closet, the baseboards, the edges of the bathtub when he’s taking a shower.

Does that mean that he himself is a lie then? A promise that cannot be upheld but drags others to their unforeseen demise? Is he a facade working against everything he stands for, everything he promotes?

Maybe he’s reading a little too much into this.

_After everyone had stopped screaming, Jeremy had stared at his wrists in wonder. He had turned his hands back and forth, examining the lines and ridges that weren’t there before but suddenly were now. He stared at the raised bumps on his wrists and the extra length his fingers now had, almost elongated._

_He gave his wrist an experimental flick._

Jeremy has an unusual ability. That ability is what has him sitting on top of this roof, waiting for the go-ahead from Jenna. She’s hacked into the traffic cameras right now, and is probably going to update him on the situation so he can help Christine and Brooke. There are many traffic cameras in Jersey City, but they’ve made do with the information overload that they have.

There’s a buzzing from his phone, and he looks down. Jenna, right on schedule.

“Hey, where is he now?” Jeremy asks, moving towards the fire escape and the planned route.

“He’s several blocks away from you. Brooke’s backing up Christine, but they’re not much help. We can’t reach Rich, and Chloe’s standing by.”

Jeremy nods. “Got it. Relative location?” He starts to plan it out in his head.

“He’s by the Liberty State Park.”

“Okay, Jenna. Thanks. How bad is the situation?”

“It’s…different. He’s unlike anything we’ve seen. Just…You have to see it for yourself.” She hangs up. Jeremy slips his phone into a side pocket of his suit and approaches the fire escape.

He jumps off the roof.

As he falls, he ponders why the Squip (as the villain has proclaimed himself) has decided to attack near a park. There’s nothing to gain there. A few old couples walking, a few joggers with their dogs, and teens smoking weed in the street over trying to be hidden.

Trees, natural forests and creeks and tourists who have nothing better to do and have ended up stuck in Jersey City, visiting Liberty State Park even though it pretty much sucks ass. Nothing to gain there. So why would he attack? What’s so important about this location?

At least he’s not attacking the school like the last one.

The ground hurtles up toward Jeremy as he free falls, and he sticks out his left arm. A deceptively thin but strong web shoots from his arm and pulls him into an arc. Jeremy grits his teeth to keep from screaming as the bones in his wrist stretch and all his weight is transferred to his left wrist.

His body is swung into an arc and the web reels itself in. Jeremy lets out a small cry because that grating feeling is still so new. He hates it and his wrists are always sore for hours.

That’s the thing: Jeremy isn’t a regular person. He’s got things he can do that no one else can.

He lands on a rooftop on Prescott Street, jumping over the gap and making his way to the end. He swings his way over to the lamppost and heads down Communipaw Avenue.

From there, he slings himself from rooftop to rooftop, panting a bit but way more in shape than from three months.

People gawk as he passes, mask stretched over his face like a red screen. Their eyes bug out of their head, and for good reason. He’s a fucking superhero with an unknown identity on the outside, but inside he’s almost terrified.

He’s a beacon for trouble, and trouble is what he’s going to get, dressed like this, using abilities almost unknown to man. Just your friendly neighborhood gang of superheroes. The fucking fag gang, as referred to at school by a kid named Dustin Kropp, who hasn’t been quite right lately. Jeremy briefly wonders if he’s found out he rather likes the lure of meth.

He’s trouble in blue and red, spandex and nylon. A streak of color, with strange powers.

Jeremy passes Whiton Street with a quick drop onto concrete and a roll to avoid breaking his neck. He hates this street, because of the bank on the corner of 621 and Communipaw. That’s where his first mission was.

Jeremy’s the face of his group. It’s not a surprise. He doesn’t really know how it happened, or why he accepted. Probably because he’s the one who’s free the most. Aka, everyone else casually insinuates he doesn’t have a social life.

Which, he doesn’t, but that shouldn’t be the factor that determines who risks their life the most. Besides, he does hang out with people. Like Michael. Like the rest of the gang. Like, Christine, who he used to have a crush on.

That ended quickly. The moment he actually started to hang out with her, instead of admiringly staring from a distance, he realised she wasn’t the perfect person he had idolized her as. She had been whiny and solely focused on her own role in the group vying to be the center of attention in her own geeky way. She was invaluable, this was true. Her power was incredible.

But the thing is, Jeremy made Christine out to be a person she isn’t, and was disappointed but also slightly relieved. She isn’t that great person who was the voice of reason. Well, she is, but she doesn’t see other people’s sides all of the time, and doesn’t get along with Chloe or Brooke or Jenna. Honestly, she’s a great person, but she’s a bit wrapped up in her talent.

That isn’t to say that she doesn’t care. She really does, and she’s one of the nicest people there. But sometimes she seems like she’s listening to a voice in her head, or playing a role. She doesn’t always seem present, or that she gets that this isn’t some elaborate play or movie. It’s awkward sometimes when he’s on missions with her. She asks him to do impossible things.

Jeremy passes The Foundry and hangs a left on Communipaw Avenue. He ends up sprinting along that road, huffing and wincing as rocks poke into the soles of his feet from his suit. He’s really got to reinforce that layer at the bottom or his feet are going to end up shredded.

He turns right onto Johnston Avenue and keeps on sprinting. He doesn’t dare go through the trees because he doesn’t want his suit to get shredded and it won’t help him anyway. He won’t go any faster and he won’t be hidden from view, so the ground is what he settles for.

He’s not very far in when he stops. There’s no noise. Nothing to indicate what he’s running towards. There’s no sound except him breathing and a few relaxed bird calls.

Is he in the wrong spot? He whips his phone out and calls Jenna again. “Where is he?” Jeremy asks, trying to catch his breath.

“I honestly have no fucking clue,” Jenna swears. “He disabled the cameras of the center and the ones along part of I-78.”

Jeremy swears. “Fuck. So you think he’s down there?”

Jenna pauses. “Incoming text from Brooke. He’s off of 612, on I-78. You should get down there. Christine and Brooke are having trouble. I think Brooke’s hurt and we honestly don’t even know what’s going on. He’s powerful, Jeremy. Unlike anything we’ve seen before. Get over there and help them. I’m calling Jake, we might need him before this is over.”

Jeremy grunts a nod of affirmation and starts to run. He’s going to wait for Jenna to hang up because she might need to give him more intel. Maybe she’ll have reached Rich and he’ll have come up with a plan. He’s scarily good at that. Maybe Jake will be close to the scene and he can come take care of things.

_A thin white line extended from his wrist, a spun thread of superstrong silk. Brooke screamed, holding on to the back of the couch. She had gone almost height level with Chloe’s waist. Jeremy tugged at his own wrist in shock, holding back a scream when his wrist made a grating sound and the web––because that was most definitely what it was––retracted back into his wrist. He turned to look at Brooke and Chloe._

_It had taken him a moment to notice Brooke was floating._

The thing is, he’s not normal. He’s been changed for good.

He pelts down the road, feet kicking up clouds of dirt and stones. Not really a literal cloud, but close enough at the speed he’s running.

Jeremy’s change hasn’t given him super speed or anything like that. He’s simply stronger, so he’s able to go slightly faster than the average human.

He’s actually good at sports now. What a surprise.

The thing is, Jeremy isn’t your average teenage guy who does nothing but play video games. He’s much more than that.

He’s Spiderman.

He gets halfway up Johnston Avenue and pauses. He’s still on the phone with Jenna. “Which way?” He asks, taking a moment to catch his breath. His sides heave and he has a cramp that he needs to get rid of.

“Try cutting across the––wait, no. Just turn left off of Johnston and onto I-78. Duh. Stupid Jenna. Sorry, took me a moment to process where you were.”

“It’s fine,” Jeremy says, already running. He makes it to the end of Johnston and hangs a left, dodging a car. There are already people running this way. What kind of danger lies ahead, and how will he face it?

Jeremy starts leaping across the interstate from car top to car top, feet pounding heavily into the metal. He extends his arm and slings his way across the interstate. This is bad. People might get hit by cars. They could get injured by whatever menace is bad enough to send them all running away and him running toward it.

He hates this part of the job.

“Brooke needs you there,” Jenna says.

“I’m going, I have to make sure no one’s getting run over.” Jeremy hears a sharp clattering noise and starts to web himself in that direction. “I’ll be there soon, I hope. I promise. Tell her to hang on.”

He vaguely wonders when the earpieces will come in. Jenna found a really good tech dealer. Using Chloe’s mother’s money, they bought enough of it to basically create their own small mini control room in Jake’s house. Among the various tech are enough earpieces to have a new one every month for each person. They’re hoping that doesn’t happen, but they’d like to be careful.

It’ll be easier to relay information instead of having to wait for Jenna to manage it all. That way they can all talk on a single frequency. And Jeremy won’t have to freak out by not having enough information, and whoever is on the front lines won’t have to take thirty seconds to text during a battle.

He rounds a bend and sees the disaster.

At first it doesn’t look all that bad. Wrecked cars, for sure, but there’s Brooke in her silver costume and yellow mask flying around a villain who just so happens to be standing on a tower of cars. There’s Chloe, crouched well away from the scene, her leg stuck under a car, babbling into her phone. She has tear tracks on her face, and her eyes are red. Her face is drawn, however. She gives a shout of relief when Jeremy passes her.

It’s strange, that she’s so excited to see him. Normally she rolls her eyes, scoffs, and then hugs him when no one is looking. But she shouldn’t be so excited to see him, because he might not be able to save anyone. Especially when she’s half trapped under a car.

“Thank God you’re here!” She hangs up but keeps the texting forum open. She doesn’t ask him to move the car so she can be free. She doesn’t mention anything about her pain and her dilemma. She just holds onto her phone. Oh, that’s Brooke’s phone. That must be why ‘Brooke’ was replying so rapidly to Jenna in the middle of a fight.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jeremy calls, swinging into action. Brooke comes to hover by him, and he searches for the one other person he knows here.

Where is Christine?

He wants to ask but he doesn’t dare say anything because he’s busy sizing up his opponent. He’s worried, because this man doesn't seem all that out of the ordinary.

He’s got dark hair carefully gelled, and a chiseled jawline. A dark trench coat flaps around his legs in a nonexistent breeze. He’s clad in black, with gloves that glitch out like pixels every so often. Aside from the blue aura that tints his skin and washes out the air around him, he looks completely normal.

Yeah, aside from the bluish skin and weird gloves and the very big fact that he’s standing atop a large pile of cars––the bottom of which are starting to burn––he looks like a guy you’d find in a big business. He looks important and powerful. Dangerous. Infallible.

His eyes pin Jeremy in place and he feels slightly nauseous. They’re a piercing, metallic blue, that seems to shift and fade away. They make Jeremy want to hurl. He jerks his gaze away. How is that even possible? Normal human eye colors don’t just change and pixelate like a computer screen.

But the thing is, Jeremy himself isn’t even fully human anymore, with his insect powers. So he shouldn’t be as freaked out or disoriented as he is now.

“Don’t look straight at him,” Brooke whispers hastily. By the way the villain tilts his head and smirks, he can hear every word they’re saying.

“Okay, operation X-Flier is a go,” Jeremy says loudly, so that Christine can hear him, wherever she is. He doesn’t care if the Squip hears him. In fact, he’s counting on it. He needs him to know they have something planned. “Just stick back and let me handle this one.”

Brooke looks dismayed but launches up into the air and just hovers, surveying their enemy critically. Jeremy starts to run in a wide circle, pretty much halfway around the SQUIP. He’s looking for Christine.

There’s a subtle presence to his right that throws him off a bit. He doesn't hear it. He just senses it. The Squip won't know that they have a third member. It’s imperative to keep their miners unknown.

Jeremy smiles, knowing no one can see his reaction through his mask. Christine’s in a perfect spot. She must have estimated what he would do. Not for the first time, he recognizes why he had a crush on her.

Jeremy charges at the Squip and shoots a web. He intentionally slips up a little bit, as if he isn't fully confident in his abilities. Which, to be honest, he isn't.

The web hits the Squip on the shoulder before he can dodge. The man rips it off and jerks his hand to the side. The web is still loose so it doesn't do much damage. Jeremy just trips a bit. There was no weight.

He fires off another one which wraps around the Squip’s wrist. Jeremy tugs and swings his body sideways, trying to get the man off the pile of cars. They need to get those away from here.

The Squip stumbles forward but again rips off the web. Does he even have any super powers or what? He hasn't used any of them. It does take a pretty powerful person to dislodge Jeremy’s webs though. They’ve figured that out from experience.

Jeremy shoots another one, aiming carefully. His middle and ring fingers fall downward. The other three stay upright and stiffly extended. His wrist tilts to bare his veins to the sky. His mouth falls open right as the web leaves his wrist.

It misses the Squip and hits Brooke instead.

“I see you appear to be having some trouble,” the Squip says, and at this point Jeremy is almost on his level. “It’s a shame you won't have a chance to learn how to aim.”

“I think you're wrong,” Jeremy says, trying not to pant. “I don't miss.”

Brooke zooms backwards, tugging on the string with both hands. Jeremy leans backward, reeling in the web at the same time. He flies forward and extends his feet.

He kicks the Squip squarely in the gut and launches him off the cars and he flew past.

Jeremy leans to the left and pulls hard as Brooke increases her speed. He goes into an arc and focuses on the rest of the plan.

Christine steps out of the woods at that moment. She raises her hands and lets loose. The whistling noise Jeremy has created by zooming past magnifies and expands outward.

The sound waves push both Jeremy and Brooke out of harm’s way as the pile of cars flies at the Squip. One good shot, that’s all they’ve got. Jeremy, Brooke, and Christine all watch triumphantly. Victory is assured.

And then the cars stop in midair.

They don’t hover. They don’t float. They just stop. Just stop right in their 2-ton path of death. Two tons a car, with roughly eight or nine cars there. Around 16 to 18 tons right there. Just stopped. Halted. They don’t move at all. No wavering that comes with hovering. No drifting like in floating. They’ve just stopped. Like something is holding them in place.

Or someone.

Christine lets out a shrill cry and sends the vibrations toward the cars. They do nothing. She stares at Jeremy with wide eyes. “Telekinesis?”

The Squip emerges from behind the cars, parting them with a wave of his hand. He extends a hand toward Jeremy, and he feels a sensation that is the weirdest thing he’s ever felt. It feels like the air has solidified beneath him and around him, and suddenly he’s frozen.

Except he isn’t, because he’s released a second later. It’s not what he expected from a guy with telekinesis, and it’s weird. Like, something is off weird.

“Spiderman,” the Squip says. “How nice to finally meet you.”

Well. That’s ominous, and Jeremy doesn’t like the sound of that at all. He steps a little bit in front of Christine. She stares at him with wide eyes. They’ve never seen anything like this before. They’ve faced telekinesis before. He can’t tell how, but this is  _different_.

It’s a good thing no one can see through his mask.

Jeremy opens his mouth to respond, but at that moment Christine lets out a sharp scream. She manipulates the vibration and launches it at the Squip. She’s trying to get him, but it’s going terribly wrong.

Because at the same moment, Brooke dives from the sky, arms outstretched, and the vibration pushes her backward instead. She falls out of the air and lands hard on her leg. There’s a sickening crunch and she screams.

Jeremy doesn’t think. He just runs, webbing onto one of the cars and hurling himself over it. He drops to his knees by Brooke’s side and swallows a dry heave. Her leg is broken, that much is obvious. It’s in the complete wrong direction.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jeremy says before doing anything. He doesn’t try to move her. She stares at him, and even through her mask her can see her pain. “We’ll fix it, I promise. Just hold on.”

He turns, and throws his body onto Brooke’s. The Squip hurls a car at them and she screams. He sits up, tugging the mask back down from where it rode up. With a grunt, he heaves himself up and starts to run for the Squip.

Christine lets out a loud yell and then makes a gagging, retching noise. She clutches at her throat, unsure at first. Jeremy watches even as he runs for his opponent. He’s confused. Her scrabbling turns to full out panic. Her face goes an alarming shade of purple.

She can’t _breathe_.

He screams and slams into the Squip, launching a web, trying to pin his hands down, something. He twists right and the Squip slams his head down into the ground. The villain steps on his chest and then leans down to grab at his mask.

Jeremy panics. That mask is the only thing keeping him safe from everything. He twists, slamming his forehead into the Squip’s. His only thought is that the mask has to stay on. It has to.

The Squip staggers backward, clutching his head. Jeremy hears Christine collapse and a yell breaks from his throat. No, no, not Christine. What has he done?

But a moment later the pressure in his chest is gone and he’s being dragged upward again. His head lolls back and he tries to make sense of the angle he’s being held at.

“Until I return, Spiderman,” the Squip hisses. Jeremy stares right at him, and is assaulted by those eyes. Those eyes that fade in and out, and he suddenly realizes they’re completely wrong. Somehow, the parts of his eyes that should be white have turned into a dark black pixelated with faint pinpricks of light.

It’s like his eyes are a black hole, and all the light and stars are slowly being extinguished. Jeremy screams. A terrible pain spikes in his head and he starts to writhe. The blue shifts and suddenly his gut is twisting. He thumps back down onto the ground and yanks his mask up just enough to vomit onto the ground, head aching.

When he looks up, the Squip is gone.

“Christine,” he gasps, and crawls over to her. She’s retching, breathing huge gulps of air like she can’t get enough. Good, she can breathe. He turns her on her side and is relieved when she doesn’t throw up. That’s great, because he wouldn’t have known what to do.

“Are you okay?” He asks. She nods, crushing him in a hug. “Good. We have to get to Brooke and get home before any news people try and get over here.”

“Oh my god,” Christine says, and shoots to her feet. Together, they race toward where Jeremy left their blonde friend. She’s crying, obviously not successful in keeping her tears at bay.

“Christine, stay with her. I’m going to go get Chloe and a car.” He slings off, retracing his steps back to the road, where Chloe is calling Jenna. She hangs up at the sight of him.

“Jeremy!” He waves, completely self conscious because there’s a high chance he has vomit on his suit and that’s nasty. “Are Brooke and Christine okay?”

“Yeah,” He says, grabbing ahold of the car she’s stuck under. He lifts it, and she crawls out. Her ankle is twisted, but not badly. He helps her up. “Well, no. Christine got telekinetically strangled, Brooke has a broken leg, and I might have brain damage, but we’re good. I’ll need you to drive.”

“Brooke has _what_? Is she okay? Is Christine with her? How is Christine? I need to call Jenna,” she says frantically. Jeremy slings her over to her car and helps her in. Somehow, it’s still intact and in perfect condition.

“I’m bringing back Brooke. Christine’s going to help me. Stay here.”

Somehow, there’s no one around. He assumes no one way hurt, but he doesn’t know where the owners of all the smashed cars went. Hitched a ride, he hopes. Ran away, he hopes. Dead in a ditch, he hopes not. He doesn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death.

He reaches Brooke and Christine and kneels by Brooke. “Hey, we’re gonna move you. Chloe’s got the car, okay? Christine, grab me a branch.”

The short girl does as told. Jeremy lines it up with Brooke’s leg and takes a deep breath. He rotates the leg into position as quickly as he can. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles as Brooke screams. “This is going to hurt.” He binds her leg to the board and lifts her up. She screams again.

“I’ll get the door,” Christine says, looking faintly green. He could have really used her help, but he doesn’t need two swoony girls instead of one.

When Chloe pulls up, he and Christine manhandle Brooke into the backseat. She’s stopped screaming, just simply whimpering. Chloe’s hands have tightened on the steering wheel.

This was not how this day was supposed to go.

Jeremy hops into the backseat after everyone is settled and tells Chloe to drive, hoping they can get to Jake quickly.

**-o-**

“Here, put her on my bed,” Jake says, rolling up his sleeves. Jeremy and Chloe set Brooke down. “You’re gonna be just fine, Brooke. I promise.”

“I know,” she says, gritting her teeth. “I trust you.”

Well, if that isn’t a surprise. Everyone trusts Jake, because he’s the only one who can do what he can. He’s the type of person who exudes an air of confidence. Jeremy can’t remember the amount of times he’s wished he could trade places with Jake. He would be cool, likeable, friendly, confident. He wouldn’t have to rush into danger every single day. He could be safe––at home, with no worries about who could be hurt because he didn’t want to go outside.

Christine waits outside. Jeremy hovers anxiously, hands flitting and wringing together. Jenna stands in the corner. Everyone’s here, except Rich. No one has any idea where he could be, and Jake starts to look panicked.

“Get me a glass of water and a flashlight,” he says. There’s a scramble as Chloe rummages through drawers for the light and Jenna fills up a cup with water. Chloe comes up with the flashlight first, handing it off to Jake.

“You’re gonna be okay, you hear?” Chloe says, flustered. She turns to Jake. “Can't you hurry this up a bit? You move like a sloth!”

“Chloe, I will kick you out of this room,” Jake warns, sitting on the bed. Jenna steps outside, phone held to her ear. “If you want to stay, then keep your comments to yourself.”

He doesn't sound perfectly alright. Brooke mumbles a curse when his weight jostles her leg. Chloe glares at him, hovering. She sets the glass of water down on the table next to them.

“I got ahold of Rich,” Jenna says, stepping back in. “He’s on his way over.”

“What for?” Chloe asks. “We don't even need him. Jake just needs to hurry the fuck up.”

Several people glare at her and she raises her hands in surrender with an eye roll and look of concern. “Sorry.”

Jake places a hand on Brooke’s leg and takes ahold of the flashlight. He clicks it on and examines the way Jeremy bound the stick to her leg to try and keep it in place. This isn’t an enormous deal. He’s seen worse.

“Scissors,” he says, and Jeremy places them in his hand. Usually Rich does that, but he isn't here. No one has any idea where he is, and only Jenna has talked to him recently.

Jake cuts through the web and sighs in relief. “It’s better than it looks,” he says. Chloe relaxes a bit. Jake hands Jeremy the flashlight, and Brooke rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up, I want to get out of here.” Jake nods at her demand.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, please just do it.”

Jake nods and stands over Brooke, placing a hand on her leg. He mumbles something under his breath and his hands start to glow a whitish yellow. He plays the light up and down Brooke’s leg.

Her leg slowly knits back together. It’s almost sickening to watch. Brooke opens her mouth in a silent scream and Chloe catches her hands before she can try to push Jake away. Jeremy’s flesh crawls. He hates watching this. He always has and most certainly always will. He’ll never get used to it.

Jenna winces and leaves the room. Jeremy hears her begin to talk to Christine about what exactly had gone wrong on the mission. Brooke lets out a weak whimper. Jake whispers a ‘sorry’ that’s almost too quiet for even Jeremy’s super hearing to pick up.

The glow from Jake’s hands dies and Brooke’s leg is as good as new. Jake slumps onto his bed, and Jeremy rushes to grab him. He looks exhausted; the area underneath his eyes is a dark grey-purple. Jeremy helps him sit straight, and everyone stares at him.

“What the fuck, Dillinger?” Brooke asks. Jake stares at the three of them.

“Just tired. I’ll get over it. Could…could you go?” He asks, and Jeremy stares. What’s wrong with him?

His phone takes that moment to ring. He pulls it out, showing the caller ID that he already knows. “I’ve gotta go,” Jeremy says, quietly, not breaking his gaze. They can’t have Jake flaking on them, he’s too important. They need him.

Every single person affected by that crazy serum has been changed in some invaluable way. Jeremy became Spiderman. Christine can control sound vibrations. Brooke can control her density and the way the wind carries her. Jenna is basically technokinetic, if that’s a thing. Is it? Jeremy isn't sure.

Jake can heal people and usually drives the getaway car. Rich is something the Internet calls pyrokinetic. Chloe can temporarily lend other people powers.

“Whatever’s going on, man…you gotta tell us. We need you. You're part of the team, and you can't bail.” Jeremy looks away. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake mumbles, sitting up with a wince.

“Okay, I gotta run. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?” Jeremy asks. Chloe nods. Brooke gets off of Jake’s bed and looks away from him. Slowly, everyone shuffles out, leaving Jake alone.

Jeremy changes out of his Spiderman suit in Jake’s bathroom, shoving it all into his backpack like a wad of cloth. When he comes out, everyone is sitting in Jake’s living room. They're chatting, and everyone seems to have forgotten that the person who owns this house asked them all to leave.

“So, meeting tomorrow?” Jeremy asks. Chloe grimaces.

“I’ve got an art club meeting tomorrow. I won’t be able to make it. Jenna can just send me the details though, right?”

“Yeah,” Jenna says, looking down at her phone. Something flashes across her face. Jeremy can’t tell what it is.

“Michael’s waiting for me,” Jeremy says, heading toward the door. “I’ve gotta go, or he’ll start getting worried.”

He leaves before anyone else can say anything. There’s a certain guilt gnawing at his insides. This is one of the few times he hasn’t been with Michael when his Spiderman persona is needed. It’s awful, and he can sense Michael growing confused and hurt every time he has to go. Every time he has to fake a family thing or an illness or just something in general.

Every time, Michael’s face falls a little bit more and his reassurances get a little bit quieter. Every single time. And Jeremy can’t tell him. Won’t tell him. Can’t, won’t refuses to. He won’t put him in danger like that.

Jake’s house is actually decently close to Jeremy’s, so he walks back without the use of his powers.

He’s got a lot of explaining to do for the bruise on his face. 


	2. 2| i’m so very far from fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Fall Away by 21 Pilots
> 
> Okay so if you can’t tell, the italics are what happened when they were first discovering their powers. Woot woot, it’s a lot of arguing and yelling and some casual IT references thrown in because I’m trash. 
> 
> Enjoy this rushed chapter that i absolutely h a t e, but can’t seem to make any better.

The door falls open with a menacing creak that has her shivering in suppressed fear. She holds her breath, willing her heart to stay still, hoping he cannot tell that she is afraid of him.

She should not be afraid of him.

Her thudding heart slows itself as calm rushes through her. The only tense part is her fist and her brain. She forces the illusion of calm to spread, until she can relax her fist and calm down her mind.

It’s like a drug, even though everything about it is fake. False, unreal. That’s a feeling she’s creating herself, in a desperate attempt to hide her fear. It’s working, but it will disappear as soon as she lets it. Fade slowly, carefully, deliberately, so that she does not notice until it is gone.

Her brown hair falls in her face and she resists the urge to push it aside. That will show that she cares.

And one thing she has learned under his instruction is to never care.

The Squip steps into the room and closes the door behind him. She clasps her hands on her lap and stares him down. He’s unlike every storybook villain ever conceived of,in the sense that he’s not even a villain at all. All he wants to do is help people.

His goal is admirable, really. It’s not contrived or concocted. It’s just out of a singular desire to help people. His plan will cure AIDS, HIV, cancer, everything like that, without hurting the people who take it. It will protect everyone. It will make them immune to all evils.

But only if they willingly let him help them.

“How are you?” He asks, sitting down next to her. She hides her flinch. What is she so afraid of, really? She is relaxed, she has nothing to fear.

She is terrified.

“Fine,” she replies, watching every movement he makes. He’s like a snake, her subconscious tells her. He’s something to not be trusted. Dangerous. But there’s a stronger voice in her head telling her it’s okay, that she’s being crazy just because of what’s happened to her.

And truth be told, that’s highly likely. She’s become paranoid. Ever since leaving school she’s gone completely dark. She’s gone crazy, cooped up here for her own good for this job.

“If you remember Number 507, he’s here with me today.” At his words, a sharp burst of hatred rushes through her. That man, Number 507, is awful. Crazily powerful and clever, but he always lets her win. She knows he has the capability to beat her, but he never tries.

She can tell it frustrates both her and the Squip. She wants him to try, to act like he gives a damn. She wants him to try, so he can know actual defeat when she beats him. She wants to see him scream, and shout, and she wants him to know pain and know that she is unbeatable. She wants him to lose for no other reason than he tried and failed.

For no other reason than she deserves to win.

She doesn’t exactly know why she has become this person. She just wants to hurt and guard herself. She wants to become so invincible nothing can touch her. Not words, fists, powers, feelings, love.

Love, damn it. She doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to feel it. She thinks she’s found it in a boy from her school, even though she barely shows up anymore. She hates it, that feeling, detests it so much. So she takes her anger and her fury and her fear out on Number 507, who she has been able to beat every single week for no other reason than he refuses to hurt her.

Why the Squip chose a weak, mindless fool to be her combat partner baffles her. She just knows that he means to have them try to kill each other in the end. She doesn’t know what the end is. She just knows that sacrifices must be made to save the people.

She is their deliverer, an accomplice to the most purely good person she has ever met. And maybe one day she will succeed his legacy, but for now, she will settle with being the hero of the people, saving them from the terrors of the world.

The Squip stands, and she rises with him. That’s how it always has been, maybe always will be. Her parents don’t even question. Sometimes she wonders if they even care at all.

The world’s oldest story: the hero and the loyal sidekick, about to save the world. How can they compete with the band of villains out there? They will try. They will make the best effort that they can. They will make the sacrifices that need to be made. But the coin will fall. The verdict will come.

And she intends to come out on top.

His gloved finger hand her the device she uses to conceal her identity. It turns her face into a shadow, a blur, and pitches her voice higher. She attaches it around her waist and stares at the mirror as her reflection changes.

Brown hair goes red, brown eyes turn green. Her skin lightens and freckles scatter across her face. This isn’t real, she tells herself. It’s more convincing than even her illusions.

Number 507 has the same thing. He’s a tan blond who looks as strong as a surfer, and yet she knows he looks nothing like that. The Squip has promised her. And she trusts him wholeheartedly.

He leads her out the door. Her boots clack and her baggy pants swish around her legs. The Squip follows, and she takes two rights and a left to get to the open room where they fight, without ceasing, on different days every week.

The Squip opens the door for her and she marches right in. There’s no fear, no hesitation. Her heart is steady, no spike of adrenaline to lower her performance. Adrenaline is only a hindrance, not a help.

Her clenched hands speak of a different story.

There he is, waiting, but not idle. His hands have gone a strange, black, ashy color, and his holds one outstretched. The air makes a sharp, percussive sound and then an explosion happens. It’s fascinating to watch.

The explosion doesn’t just happen. While she prefers her own powers by far, Number 507 sure has an interesting one. He can cause the air in a space to collapse in on itself. Thus, he creates a vacuum. He can also cause a chemical reaction of sorts to take place, and create a large explosion.

When he fights her, he’s never used the second ability. He’s only used the vacuum to distract her by making the air feel like it’s constricting. She prefers her own specialties because she can do much the same, although it isn’t real. Not really.

She is Number 550, as noted by the tattoo like a barcode on the back of her neck, along with a string of separate numbers. Number 507’s tattoo is located on both the inside of his wrist and the back of his neck, ugly and bold and claiming. At least hers isn’t in a place where she can see it.

But wouldn’t she be proud of it, if she could see it? If she could look at her wrist and have a reminder that she is part of a cause much greater and much more powerful than herself? Wouldn’t that be exhilarating and gratifying and powerful?

It would. It would.

She is powerful, more so than Number 507, more so than that band of villains running around causing trouble and destroying important highways. Her power rivals even that of the Squip, but she will never use them against him because he has given her everything she has never had.

Number 507 looks up and anger blossoms in his eyes. Good. She wants the very sight of her to make him angry at his own incompetence, at her own superiority. She thrives upon the power that his reaction will give her.

After all, she’s the most powerful freak in this room.

Without warning, there’s a sharp sound and the world around her goes warped. The air tilts and she feels pulled in several directions.

It’s disorienting, and she lashes out with no thought to any strategy. Her hand extends and the illusion is right in front of him. She can see it. She knows the Squip does too. She almost believes it.

Almost, but she knows it isn't real.

He screams, and claws at the vines that wrap around him, thorns digging into his skin. His fingernails scratch open gashes where he believes the thorns are.

He uses his power to pull her backward, halfway across the room. She feels it happening, and makes him believe the thorns on the vines are digging into him brutally. He screams.

She laughs.

Her laughter continues on even after the illusion cuts off. Number 507 gets off his knees, simply staring at her. She tries to suppress the giggles but it’s just too funny. He’s terrified of something that isn’t there! He’s a coward! He knows it isn't real, which makes it even funnier!

She doesn't laugh, however, when the Squip gives a warning cough from outside of the room. She stops, and glares with more hatred than a person should ever have.

Why should he stop her from having fun?

She runs at her opponent, and slams her fist right into his face. He reels, and she shoves him to the ground, feet flying, seeking to hurt, to injure, to wound. He rolls away, and she stops to catch her breath.

All 5’8 of her goes launching backward and she glares at the Squip again because she can tell he just used his power to force her to play by his unspoken rules. If that's what he wants, then fine.

She runs, still deciding what she’s going to do, and then just acts on impulse. Her feet skid to a stop and she nearly trips over herself.

Her hand extends and electricity shoots from her hand.

He screams, and falls to the floor, writhing. His head jerks.

“Why don't you fight back, huh?” She screams. He moans. “Stop being such a pussy and fight me! Why don't you? Too scared? Just do it! Do it, come on! I told you! Fight me back, you creep!”

She could kill him. She could really do it. She wants to, but she doesn't. The wanting is strange, feels strange, feels foreign and controlled. She doesn't want to. There’s something about the way he doesn't fight, doesn't take part, that makes her soften.

She could kill him, and she wants to, to stop being vulnerable like this.

He passes out and she dismisses her powers with a sigh, landing a sharp blow to his ribs and spinning on her heel. The door swings open and the Squip comes in.

“Well done, Streak.” He crouches by 507’s limp body, pushing his wavy blond surfer hair from his forehead in a strangely paternal gesture. “You are dismissed.”

She nods, and walks out. Her shoes click across the linoleum floor. She waits until she is safely outside before removing the device and letting her appearance melt back to its true form. From green eyes to brown eyes, from red hair to dark dark brown, from pale skin to tanned, from freckles to unblemished skin.

The last thing she sees before the door swings shut is the Squip, helping 507 to his feet in such a selfless gesture that she wishes for a brief moment that she lost instead of winning like usual.

**-o-**

Jeremy closes the door behind him and flops down onto the couch. He lets out a huffing sigh before standing back up for no reason at all. After a few twitchy moments, he sinks down onto the ground. Michael raises an eyebrow, surveying his face again.

Jeremy’s noticed him doing that a lot, and it’s made him nervous because he always has cuts and bruises there. In reality he knows Jake would be happy to get rid of them, but Jeremy isn't really sure what happens to him when he does it. He isn’t sure if Jake was just tired earlier today, but if something is wrong he doesn’t want to risk it.

Everyone has a substantial reaction to using their powers. Jeremy constantly feels loopy, or like he’s still moving. Christine gets really sensitive to the noises around her. Jenna talks a mile a minute. Brooke can barely stand because she feels like she’s floating. Rich can't tolerate being touched by hardly anyone, and usually ends up running a high fever. Chloe feels pulled in different directions at once.

No one’s really sure what happens with Jake. From the look of panic on his face when they asked, that subject should be left alone. It's strange, to know that doing so much good has such a toll on them, both physically and mentally.

“Hey, Jer,” Michael says, and Jeremy lets out a huffing sigh. “Rough day?” It’s Sunday, the day of the Squip incident. Jeremy feels better, but not great. Jake fixed Brooke’s leg and Chloe’s ankle, but Jeremy had left then. He didn’t ask Jake to fix his face. He doesn’t want to be a burden.

“Tell me about it,” he says. “Did you hear about the road?” He doesn't know why he brings it up. He hates talking to Michael about Spiderman, because he doesn't want Michael to know. He’s still loopy, still out of it.

He doesn't want Michael to even be thinking about any of the danger Spiderman is in. Because then Michael might get mixed up in it, and he might get hurt. And Jeremy doesn't want that. At all.

Fuck, he feels likes he’s high.

“Yeah, I did,” Michael says, and sure enough, it's on the TV right there. “The Squip freaking wrecked the interstate, man. At least people managed to get out of their cars or they would have gotten killed. One person’s just been brought out of a medically induced coma.”

Jeremy winces. His fault. Of course, it's all his fault. He should have tried harder. Should have done better. Should have helped the injured instead of someone whose leg could be healed within a minute.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks, and for a moment he rests his hand on Jeremy’s. “You’re pale and sweating like crazy. Come here.”

The boy pushes up his glasses and leads Jeremy to the couch, hand on his arm. For a moment Jeremy tilts and goes crashing into Michael’s chest, and he doesn’t want to come out. Michael smells good, like laundry detergent and dry leaves, and he wants to stay in his arms, kiss him and hold him, because he has such a big, crazy crush on his best friend of twelve years.

Michael sits him down on the couch with a worried look. Jeremy’s hand slips across Michael’s hip as he sits down. He allows himself to preserve the memory of that one touch because he’ll never get it again. Then he feels guilty. That’s kind of like molesting his best friend. Fuck, he’s doing everything all wrong.

Jeremy closes his eyes and tries to breathe, because there’s nothing really wrong and he is okay. He’s just...drifting? Inside his own head? It makes no sense, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. There’s nothing wrong.

It’s all his fault.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, eyes closed, and opens them a crack just to see Michael push back his hair, wide eyed. Fuck, he looks good like that. Pretty, very pretty, in only a way Michael can. He thinks he’s a bit more than infatuated. “Sorry, Just tired.”

He wants Michael to say something, to clearly tell him he is not okay and that he needs to rest, that he should sit down and does he need to call his dad because Jeremy you aren’t looking too good and I don’t want you to pass out.

But he doesn’t, just shrugs.

Is that all Jeremy is going to get from him?

There’s a problem, and it’s mostly Jeremy’s fault. He’s got a crush, really. A silly crush that he wants to go away and at the same time wants to clasp desperately to him and never let go because what if someone finds out? What if someone knows?

“If you say you’re fine, then okay. What’s new?” At the sound of Michael’s voice, Jeremy blocks out the cringe and smiles at him briefly.

_Brooke screamed and latched onto Chloe’s hand. Everyone turned to stare, Jeremy still tugging at his wrist in shock. A loud scream erupted from Jenna’s lips and Christine clamped her hands over her ears, eyes bulging. Rich went pale. Jake simply stood there, a hand out to catch hold of something, anything, as if he too would start to float away, as if everyone would float down here in his basement, as if they would all go strange._

“Sorry that I wasn’t over here,” Jeremy says instead, apologizing. “I was at Jake’s.”

Michael’s face falls for some reason, but he says nothing. Jeremy watches him cautiously, still reeling from using his stupid insect powers to do nothing but hurt people.

Is it possible to be the villain when you’re only trying to do good?

“I’m sorry that I––that I haven’t been here. Listen, I know––well, really that’s besides the point because it don’t matter what I know or not…um, well, really it’s funny––no it isn’t, what am I saying…I’m sorry that I haven’t been––that I haven’t been around. That I haven’t been here for you. As much, I mean. And I’ll do better. I will, promise. I’m sorry, and I—I’m sorry.”

Through that entire, stuttering apology, Jeremy cringes his way towards silence while Michael stares. He’s loopy. He’s awkward and fumbling and really he has to go to that stupid meeting tomorrow with everyone there and listen to Chloe and Jenna fight.

“Did something happen?” Michael asks, concern etching itself all over his features. “You’re more rattled than usual. Is it something someone did?”

“No,” Jeremy mumbles, rolling his eyes. “Look, let’s just play some video games or shit like that, and I’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine, because nothing has changed. Everything is perfect.”

He doesn’t see that Michael forces his walls back up when he calls what they enjoy together shit. He doesn’t see how he flinches when Jeremy says he is fine. He definitely doesn’t see the hurt look in his eyes when he says nothing has changed.

“Okay,” Michael says quietly, flopping on the ground and turning on the TV console. “As long as everything is alright.” He doesn’t comment, and somehow that might be worse.

“Apocalypse of the Damned?” Jeremy asks after a moment, suddenly aware that he and Michael are acting like strangers. Suddenly aware that they have been best friends for twelve years, almost thirteen now, and they should not be treating each other this way.

“Sure,” Michael answers, and inserts the game. Jeremy watches him and notices his drawn posture. He doesn’t comment, instead settles himself and gets ready to start the game.

If there’s something going on with Michael, then he will tell Jeremy. He doesn’t know about Jeremy’s crush, about the way he dies a little bit inside when Michael touches him or smiles at him or is just generally in his vicinity. Michael doesn't know, so he should trust him. He knows he can talk to him about anything.

Right?

**-o-**

Jake opens the door to Jeremy later the next day, waving him in. Jeremy stumbles awkwardly through the doorway, and from somewhere in the house, Rich snickers. Jake casts a glance back and shuts the door.

“You’re the last one here,” he mutters, and turns on his heel. Jeremy follows, somehow still more comfortable in his own skin than he would have been. Maybe because he knows he is powerful, important, valued. His anxiety has not gone away, but it has become more manageable than it should have been following a nervous breakdown.

“Sorry I was so late, my dad had some things he wanted to talk about,” he lies through his teeth. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just knows he has to hide the evidence of his most recent mental breakdown. Hide the evidence that maybe he’s not doing as okay as he thought he was.

“You’re fine,” Jake says, and he looks better from his exhaustion freakout yesterday. Jeremy files that away with an inner sigh of satisfaction. They really need Jake, even if Jeremy isn’t too fond of the guy. Even if Jake was everything he ever wanted to be but never succeeded at. Even if he was awful to Jeremy before this.

Now they’re kinda friends now. Kinda. He’s ‘kinda’ friends with a lot of people in this group. Ready to die for them but not exactly close.

Jake steps into the kitchen, looking somehow a little bit off. Jeremy doesn’t waste time going after him to make sure he’s okay. That job is for Rich.

“Hey Jeremy!” Brooke calls, and jumps up in the middle of her conversation with Jenna to come hug him. Rich yelps as she steps on him.

_Chloe grabbed her and tugged her to the couch, eyes wide. Brooke placed her feet down and curled her toes into the material. Jeremy gaped, and Jenna slowly got off the chair and dropped the duster. She stared at both Jeremy and Brooke,_

_“What happened to you two?” She whispered._

“Hey, Brooke,” Jeremy replies, giving her a quick hug and moving away. Christine stands and hugs him as well. She fits well against him, pressed close and head coming at his chest. But something’s missing. Some flash of security that should be surrounding him, something that should make him want to stay instead of escape from this awkward hug.

Something that Michael gives him.

“Hi, Christine. How are things?”

The next few minutes are filled with banal chatter until Jake comes back. He takes a seat by Rich, who stares at him questioningly.

“Okay, so we’re supposed to be talking about what happened with the Squip, even though it probably isn’t a big deal,” Brooke announces. They all agree. They’ve seen villains like this before: people who act like big shots but can usually be defeated with some teamwork and a few battles.

“We’ll start with a rundown of what happened,” Jenna says, and waves them all to Jake’s basement. They file down the stairs in a line, mood carefree and unconcerned. They’re here for one reason only: shouldn’t they be more somber? They’re here to discuss a man who was responsible for hospitalizing people and causing damage to an important road.

Why are they still acting like children?

_“Stop talking so loudly,” Christine whispered, hands still over her ears. Rich had begun to babble at this point, face grey. No one listened to Christine. Jeremy stood, watching her freak out. What was going on with her? With all of them?_

_Brooke let out a soft scream that ended up staying clenched between her teeth. Chloe and Rich started to fight, faces wide with fear._

_“I said, stop!” The sound tore from Christine’s mouth and echoed across the room, much louder than it should have been. She held out her hand and some force pushed every single person back, down, away. Rich’s head snapped back against the wall._

_Everyone stared, and Christine looked horrified. She started to cry, whispering broken apologies. No one moved to help her, still stunned. Rich rubbed his head and stood._

_“I don’t think it’s just you guys,” he whispered quietly, his voice taking on more volume. “I don’t think it’s just you three.”_

_“Well what, then?” Chloe snapped. “What do you seriously expect me to believe? Brooke can fly, Christine’s a powerhouse, and Jeremy’s some sort of spider guy? You want me to believe that it’s more than that, for some dumb fucking reason?”_

_Rich shook his head slowly, reaching out a hand to help Christine up. Jeremy had never felt more overwhelmed. He did not know these people. He was terrified of interacting with every single one of them. Rich was his school bully. Jake the guy he was in awe of but also thought was a dick. Chloe and Brooke hot, Jenna nosy. Christine perfect._

_They were all dangerous. He didn't know them. He shouldn’t be here. Something had happened, and he suddenly wished for Michael to be here so he could have someone as a backup, someone to rely on._

_“I think it’s all of us.”_

Jake’s basement has been converted to some technology lab at Jenna’s request. His house is the most ideal––right in the middle of everyone else’s, no adults to supervise. Over the course of three months, Jenna, Jake, Jeremy, and Chloe have accumulated various pieces of technology in order to keep tabs on the city and all the villains they faced. It works out well.

From the door is a pathway to a single open space in the middle. Surrounding that space stand various tables and desks and swivel chairs. Each faces a computer monitor, a speaker, a wide screen, a projector, or various other pieces of technology. Jenna has wired up a loudspeaker that allows her to talk to every person’s phone on multiple lines at a time.

Once the earpieces and cameras come in, she’ll be able to see and hear everything they are doing. She already has a map projection that allows her to see where they’re going: a tracker she puts in their suits. In confidence, she told only Jeremy and Chloe about it. He doesn’t know why. He just figure it’s because they’re the least likely to open their mouths and let secrets fall out.

Jeremy checks his phone to see a montage of texts from a likely stoned and bored Michael. He snorts at the close up picture of a cat outside, before putting his phone away. Back to business, right.

Jenna clicks her fingers together and multiple monitors turn on. She closes her eyes and moves her hand in a series of puppet-like gestures. The technology buzzes through the feed and a series of notes and pictures of the Squip pop up.

“This villain calls himself the Squip,” Jenna says, and everyone takes a seat on the ground. Rich starts to spin himself slowly in a rolling chair. Jake pushes it with his feet. “He’s attacked the city twice before yesterday, but never big enough that we needed to go after him. He’s average, like every other one we’ve seen before. We shouldn’t be too worried.”

She clicks her fingers and one feed zooms up. It’s a picture of the Squip using some sort of power. His face is oddly strained, and Jeremy feels like throwing up at the sight of his eyes. They’re grotesque, unnatural. Brooke groans.

“What we know about him so far is that his pattern off attack is large spaces that will affect everyday pedestrian life. He’s no radical, pushing for change in the government. He’s not taking it out on a certain business. Therefore, we can conclude that he’s just someone with powers looking to fuck shit up.”

Brooke holds up her phone and Jeremy sees that she’s recording the entire thing. Jeremy assumes she’ll have Jenna put it in the database they’ve been creating.

“He seems to work alone,” Jenna adds. “For the four of you who fought him, I didn’t exactly get what he could do. Jeremy, care to explain?”

Why does he feel like he’s in trouble? He hauls himself to his feet, and steps up to join Jenna in the darkened room. She gives him a smile but it looks so fake, and that jolts him.

“Um…” He doesn’t know what to say. “His eyes are creepy.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Obviously there’s more than that, dork.” He and Rich high five, and Jeremy shrinks into himself.

Brooke swats him. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. And no, Jake, Jeremy is right. It’s the first thing you notice about him. His eyes aren’t right. They’re strange, disorienting. It could be a superpower all in its own, because it’s so distracting.”

“Y-yeah, that’s what I was trying to––never mind, it doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “I’m pretty sure he’s got telekinesis, but it’s different.”

“How?” Rich grumbles, doing a three sixty in the chair and yelping when it almost tips over. He isn’t paying attention in the slightest.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy mutters.

“You don't know?” Rich asks incredulously. “How can you possibly not know?”

“Because it looks exactly like telekinesis, okay? But instead he can do a bunch of shit with it! Like strangling Christine without touching her! Last time I checked, people shouldn’t be able to do that!” Jeremy really needs to calm down. He doesn’t know where this anger is coming from.

“Yeah, well people can’t shoot spiderwebs out of their fucking veins, man. I wouldn’t say you’re exactly human.” Rich snorts, but even Jake is looking at him reproachfully, like he’s gone too far, and his grin falters.

“Need I remind you that your own body bursts into flames on command? That you’re the only one of us who can’t heal fast enough to save your own life? How do you expect to save other people’s then, when all you do is hurt? Your powers don’t even do any good, so I wouldn’t call you any better than I would call myself!

“And I didn’t see you risking your short little ass to save the city when we fought him, so I think you should shut up about what this Squip can and cannot do! What are you even doing here right now? Gonna take one for the team? You’re basically useless!”

Jeremy freezes up as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Oh my god,” he whispers. Rich spins to a full halt. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Everyone stares at him. Jake looks downright furious, and Jenna looks shocked. Brooke looks halfway proud and halfway like she’s going to stand up and drop both him and Rich off a tall building. Christine has her hands over her ears and looks terrified.

But it’s the look on Rich’s face that Jeremy can’t stop staring at. It’s the look on his face that has him begging out apologies even though he can barely string two words together. It’s the expression that tells him that he’s just confirmed on of Rich’s worst thoughts.

“Rich, I am so sorry, oh my gosh, please don’t beat me up,” he begs, and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Rich just stares, and then takes a step forward.

His arms burst into flame.

He charges Jeremy, and the taller moves to defend himself. He jumps up onto the ceiling. Rich aims, but Jeremy shoots a web and wraps it around his hand.

“Stop it!” Jake shouts, and hooks an arm around Rich’s waist and neck. “Both of you! You’ll destroy my house, and there’s no reason to be fighting anyway!”

“Jeremy, get down and apologize,” Jenna demands. Jeremy drops as soon as he’s sure that Rich isn’t going to burn him alive.

“I never meant to say that,” Jeremy mutters. “I’m sorry. Most of that was just what I’ve been thinking, and I got mad.” Upon seeing the livid expression on Rich’s face, he corrects himself. “Thinking about myself. I’m sorry, I’ve just felt so useless here, and I took it out on you.”

“You’re not useless.” The fire on Rich’s arms dies out, and Jake lets out a relieved sigh. Brooke unwraps her arm from Christine and stares at the two of them. “I think I should––“

Rich moves to step forward and stumbles a bit. He trips over Jenna’s foot and crashes to the ground. Jake stares, open mouthed.

“Oh no,” Jeremy breathes, and feels a sudden urge just to leave. “I think I should––think we should––I think I should go.”

“Just leave me here,” Rich grumbles, and curls in on himself when Brooke pokes his shoulder. “Fuck, don’t touch me. That stings like a mother.”

Jake watches Jeremy scamper up the stairs without another word. He stares at the three girls, whose eyes flit back and forth between him, each other, and their prone friend.

“I’ll take care of him,” he sighs, and the three stand up. It’s become awkward, and Rich lets out a weak yelp when Jake nudges him with a foot.

The girls leave, and Jake plops onto the basement floor. Rich has his eyes closed and his hands digging into the carpet. His brow contorts every time he breathes.

“Tell me where it hurts,” Jake says, rolling up his sleeves. Rich shakes his head. “Come on, man. What are you doing?”

“You can’t fix this,” Rich says, and Jake puts his hand down.

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rich grumbles, and pushes himself up. He looks fine now. “Just the aftereffect of using my powers.”

“For such a short time?” Jake asks, a bit worried now. Like he wasn’t already before.

“It’s just…” Rich trails off. “I don’t even know. Like, since I don’t use them, they wear me out? Like, I hate being touched by almost everyone, but it shouldn’t be wearing me out. Right?” He looks confused by his own logic, but to Jake it makes perfect sense.

“You’re not using them enough,” he decides.

“I don’t want to use them. I don’t mean to. I didn’t mean to catch on fire when I was angry with Jeremy. I was just going to hit him, put him in his place on the pecking order, but…” Rich stops again. “But I did, and…ugh, I hate emotions. This shit is useless.”

Jake surveys his best friend, who turns to look at him. Rich looks absolutely miserable. Jake decides he needs to do something, if only to get that look off his best friend’s face.

“You need to use them more,” Jake states, determined. Rich starts to protest. “No, hear me out. You obviously don’t have control of them. They’re obviously hurting you to use them, and that’s not good. We’re really going to need you, someday. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the one who ends up saving us all from some big dilemma. Aside from Chloe, you’re the most badass of them all.

“Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll practice once a week, just to get it under control. Then we’ll test out some ideas for things you can use with them, that way this doesn’t always happen.” Jake finishes his plan and is pleased when Rich launches himself at Jake to hug him. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Rich says, beaming. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Jake laughs. There’s an odd fluttery feeling in his chest, and he ignores it. Deciding he’s going to help his friend, he makes his hand glow and runs it along the curve of Rich’s back, over his hip, down his leg. Rich lets out a soft sigh and relaxes.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me about how much it hurt,” Jake admonishes, frowning at the feeling. “I could have fixed it before.”

“Didn’t think you could,” Rich jokes. Jake rolls his eyes.

“Don’t doubt me, Goranski. Wanna order in?”

“Sure.”

As the two walk upstairs, they miss spotting a certain Jeremy Heere, who is currently hanging on the ceiling at the turn of the stairs. He frowns, watching the two. He was going to stick around and work things out with Rich, but apparently that won’t be happening.

There’s something he realized: they thought they were the only ones with powers. They’re the only ones who drank that stupid thing Mr. Reyes put in the cast serum.

It was only after they did all that that they got their powers. Not before, just after. Just because. And it worked.

Why was that so weird?

Oh right. It was weird because the powers probably came from that stupid drink. But was there something in that drink to make it that way?

And who put it there?

Jeremy remembers how insistent Mr. Reyes was that they drink it. He remembers laughing with Rich and Jake as they picked the lock to the theatre and stole some to take back to Chloe’s house.

He remembers how easy it had been. Was it possible that something more was going on? Why had the drama teacher been so insistent that they drink it?

His head spins. There’s something going on, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t know why he thinks that. Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t get over the weirdness of the Squip’s eyes. Maybe it’s that he’s just paranoid.

Oh, but another thing.

They thought they were the only ones with powers because of the weird drink. They suspect that’s what gave the powers to them.

So how does the Squip have some too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, sorry that this was such a mess. I’ve been working up the courage to tell my parents that there’s something very wrong with me, and my anxiety has gotten worse and I want to die, but that’s all okay.  
> So I have a few things I’d like to ask:  
> -What did you think of Number 550 (Streak) and Number 507?  
> -Why was the Squip so paternal towards 507?  
> -What did you think of the boyf riends interaction, because I just wasn’t feeling it but I needed Michael to get in there soon.  
> -the richjake bros scene? I love them, they’re my OTP. I have an over 100 page story for them going up sometime in January. 
> 
> Poor Michael, he thinks Jeremy has abandoned him for the ‘cool’ kids. Little does he know all they do is fight and try not to die. 
> 
> So: a short rundown of what was going on in the first scene. Two people. Referred to as numbers. Number 550’s powers are electricity (bc the Squip couldn’t be overpowered haha) and illusion (kinda like optic nerve blocking) and Number 507’s powers are this weird ari vacuum and then he can make certain things explode. It’s confusing, I know. But I love them and the way Number 550 is completely deranged. Strong female antagonists, woot. 
> 
> Notice I didn’t use the word villain. 
> 
> Uh, please comment and kudo and give me tips on how to improve. 
> 
> If you wanna talk ask me in the comments and I’ll tell you how to reach me 
> 
> Pinterest boards link: (here you can see my other obsessions as well) https://www.pinterest.com/dusingclara/
> 
> Just copy and paste that and you should be good


	3. 3| you specialize in dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Addicct With A Pen” by 21 Pilots
> 
> We’re doing 21 Guns for my showcase and my friend texted me “are you guys in the auditorium because y’all sound like a cult”
> 
> During that song, my friend and I do the boyf riends handshake and it’s beautiful. Just though I should share. 
> 
> We’re also doing “You Will Be Found” from Dear Evan Hansen and I literally cry every time i go on stage 
> 
> Seriously, I need to get Michael in this story more. He’s made an appearance exactly once.

Jeremy sinks down into the nest of pillows, unwilling to move. He doesn’t want to get up. Doesn’t want to face the day of his dad lounging at home, doesn’t want to take on any responsibilities that he knows he’ll have to shoulder. Doesn't want to get up from where he’s tangled in the blankets with his hand bent awkwardly underneath one of his thighs.

It's a comforting sort of heat, one that lulls him right back to the edge of sleep. He can't even remember why he woke up. Sliding deeper into the mattress, he realizes the sky is still dark. Why the hell is he up?

He rolls over and wonders if Michael is awake. Wonders if he’s up, playing a video game in an effort to make himself tired enough to go back to sleep. Checking through his phone waiting for someone to text him but knowing there’s really only one person who would. Spamming Jeremy with messages to freak out over why the chicken crossing the road was a really big deal, because society has turned suicide into a big fucking joke.

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair and uncurls the arm bent into an awkward position. He closes his eyes, but the blanket has ridden up around his feet and he’s too lazy to nudge it back down. He just wants to go back to sleep, so why is it so hard? He has school later, so he’ll need all the energy he can get.

What would Michael be doing? Jeremy takes a second to run over the things he knows about his best friend. The fact that if he is awake, his hair’s probably a mess and his glasses are probably askew. That if he is awake, he’s probably got a glass of soda and is staring blankly at the TV screen, hoping to wake up sooner or later.

Is it bad, that Jeremy knows all this, knows Michael better than he knows even himself? Is it bad that he knows all of these things, because he is stupidly, irrevocably infatuated with his best friend?

Maybe he can hitch a ride with Michael instead of taking the bus. Maybe that’ll be okay for today. Just today, really.

Jeremy reaches for his phone and turns it on. He squints in the manufactured glow and across blindly until the brightness dims. He’s got thirteen texts and two missed calls, both of those from Christine.

**_Chat: Jerrmy is gay for Michael Mell_ **

_shookforshakespeare: is anyone up the Squip is attacking_

_shookforshakespeare: i’m sctually panicking and too scared to go out alone he'll destroy me someone wake up_

_shookforshakespeare: oh gosh it's too early_

_goodbi: where the fuck is that btch imma fck him up_

Jeremy sighs. He hates the chat name, but Brooke refuses to change it.

Wait, the Squip is attacking?

It’s too early for this.

He wants to cry, because he just wants to go back to sleep. Not get up and fight a supervillain and possibly die. All at—he checks the clock—three in the morning. No sir, no thanks.

He nearly almost rolls his eyes and goes to bed, but decides to read the rest of the text messages.

_shookforshakespeare: he’s literally just hanging out destroying buildings_

_shookforshakespeare: there’s someone with him jjerrmy wake up we need you_

_goodbi: i’m on my wayy_

_shookforshakespeare: no rich you don’t know how to work your powers_

_goodbi: i see how it is_

_iamheere: Christine where are you I’m awake_

_iamheere: rich we need everybody we can get_

Christine sends her location and Jeremy bolts out of bed. He throws on his suit, cold fabric sliding uncomfortably against his skin. He dons his mask, shoves his phone in his thigh pocket, and slides out his window. It’s a good thing Brooke reinforced his suit, because if not, the soles would be shredded and his feet would be torn to bloody ruins.

That would be hard to explain.

After closing the window, he crawls down the wall and lands in the bushes. He hopes none of his neighbors saw that. Or his dad. Bad, very bad.

Jeremy sets off at a breaking run. They've got a number of tall buildings to play off of. That’s a good environment for him, but not for Christine or Rich. He needs Brooke to haul ass over. They really need her.

Or better yet, Chloe could Gift Brooke's powers to Rich and Christine. No, that wouldn't work. And besides, he shouldn't be a bother. He’s not going to wake up the squad when he can take care of it himself.

He should just send Rich and Christine home so no one gets hurt.

At that moment, his phone begins to buzz. He sighs, slings across a still intersection, and starts to pull it out of his pocket.

There’s nothing around here. No movement of life. The stillness is eerie, and he almost wants it to start pouring just so he can hear the rain and make some noise. Just so this foggy night doesn't feel so totally oppressing.

He stares at the lights strung up on the wires and watches, watches their movement in the motionless air and listens to his phone stop buzzing. He should really send Rich home. He isn't useful in a fight.

He should send Christine home, because he doesn't think he can bear to see her get hurt. He wouldn't really care too much if something happened to Rich. Just because they were supposed to work together now didn't erase all of the bullying in school and the endless comments and the burden of being a loser. Just because they were supposed to get along didn't mean he had to like the dyslexic kid.

He should send Rich home, because he knows it will irk the other boy. Because his powers hurt more than help and he really is useless. Because all he can do is set things on fire. Because all he can do is destroy.

His powers would suit a villain better, Jeremy thinks with a shock. What kind of hero burns instead of quenches? What kind of hero destroys instead of builds? He’s the one person on the team who really, actually doesn't matter all that much. Jeremy would be fine if he just left, if he just disappeared.

He should send Christine home, because her power consists of manipulating noise around her. If the Squip figures that out, he’ll eliminate her because her powers cannot be taken away. Because there would be no way to stop her short of killing her. Jeremy had almost lost her once, and he can't bear to have to go through that again.

Aside from Michael, she's the person he’s the most comfortable with. She's taking on the role of his best friend now that he's gotten powers and has to stay away from Michael to make sure he’s safe. Now that he has to be the face of a group he’s sure he doesn’t belong in. Now that he’s Spider-Man and the one person he wants to be with can never ever know.

He should send them both home, because he doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

The light flickers from yellow to red. Jeremy stares at it for a moment. Traffic lights. He’s a traffic light. That's all he ever will be.

The metaphor makes such perfect sense that he whoops aloud and then hushes himself. He’s created his own personal diagnosis: he’s a traffic light. Life has never made so much sense.

Flickering on, doing their job, even when there’s nothing to do. Unnoticed until something goes wrong. Working in the dark with no one to appreciate: a thing taken for granted. And more and more and more.

_**Private chat to: Michael Mell** _

_iamheere: i am a traffic light_

He smirks in satisfaction and texts the group chat. Astounding that he has enough friends to make one.

**_Chat: Jerrmy is gay for Michael Mell_ **

_iamheere: I am a traffic light_

_queen: holy shit_

_queen: i need so much context_

_queen: also am i needed as a driver_

_goodbi: u live three minutes away from me please get me_

_queen: okay_

_queen: I need to change my name gosh_

_goodbi: love u 4ever and always chloe_

Jeremy swallows hard, all good mood from his epiphany gone. More people. More people to get hurt. More people for him to be responsible for. More people for him to fail.

_iamheere: no go home rich and chloe_

_iamheere: you too chris_

_iamheere: ive got it_

_iamheere: i’ll get him don't worry_

_queen: u sure_

_iamheere: yeah, take rich back home_

_queen: dude dont sacrfice urself_

_iamheere: okay not this time_

He instantly chides himself. He should have just said okay, shouldn’t have worried anyone. Shouldn’t have worried himself, because now he’ll go in without sacrificing himself because he promised and he tries not to break promises.

He doesn’t even know what would have happened if Chloe hadn’t said that, but he knows that he might owe her his life for those four words. He probably would have stepped up at the Squip, alone, knowing there was nothing he wanted to do more than just give in.

He probably wouldn’t even have fought him. Just let him mow him down and move on.

He can’t do that to his friends. Can’t leave them alone to face the Squip on their own. Can’t leave them alone to face any dangers that may come up by themselves. He just can’t do it. Can’t abandon them like that.

Hasn’t he already done it to Michael?

Shouldn't that make it easier for him to do it to others?

What is he thinking?

_shookforshakespeare: Jeremy I’m already here im not going back home_

_shookforshakespeare: we’re in this together and i wont let you do this alone_

_shookforshakespeare: did something happen_

He says nothing on the chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard as the traffic light changes from red to green.

Yes, something did happen.

Yes, he needs to do this alone.

Yes, he isn’t okay.

Yes, he freaks out every moment of every day and he thought he was getting better but now he’s only getting worse.

Yes, something is wrong.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

No, nothing happened.

No, he can do this.

No, he can tough it out.

No, he doesn’t need to tell them how worthless and guilty he feels.

Someone stop him.

_queen: okay thats it rich and i are on our way_

_goodbi: i’m calling brooke_

_goodbi: never mind chloe threatened 2 hit me if i did_

_goodbi: i guess i wont_

_goodbi: jeremy please answer_

_iamheere: okay_

_iamheere: I’m just worried about someone getting hurt_

This isn’t the time for a lecture on how he can’t prevent that. He knows it, so he expects them to move on, to get their minds set on beating the Squip. Jeremy intends to put him away behind bars for good. He’s tired of this villain even though he’s only fought him once. He’s just done, just done, just wants to go home and call Michael and maybe cry a lot.

He knows if he calls Michael while crying then Michael will drive to his house and ask him what happened, what someone did. He knows he will just end up crying into Michael’s hoodie, trying to keep all of his secrets inside his mind. Nothing but dust will come out, speaking but just a jumble of nothingness.

He knows Michael will end up holding him until he cries himself to sleep, lulled by the familiar scent of Michael, by the comfort of being held in his arms, knowing nothing can hurt him, especially himself, as long as Michael is there to hold him and talk softly in his ear.

He knows Michael will be worried, if he calls him crying. He knows that Michael will want to know what happened, and he knows that he won’t be able to say. He knows he will fall asleep and still hold the pain close to his chest, even when it’s all gone away. Even when Jake’s done everything he can to take it away and fix him.

Just because he has to, just because that’s his job. That’s all he’s good for: looking after everyone and taking away the hurt with no thanks in return. Simply because he has the power to fix people. And since they are his friends, he should do it unconditionally.

Somehow, Jeremy is better at understanding others than he is at knowing the darkest parts of himself. He blames the part of the writer in him. The part that has him drawing on his metaphors for his semblance of comfort, to know he is not crazy and there are things worth sticking around for in the world. Just look at Michael.

Jake tries to fix him when he’s hurt.

Doesn’t everyone understand the biggest truth? The biggest, glaring truth everyone seems to think is a lie? The fact that everyone else is ignoring?

He’s unfixable.

There’s nothing in him that can be put back in place, because everything already is. The puzzle is completed, as much as it can be. And there are still pieces of him that are missing, misshapen, malfunctioning. He’s completed, and the picture the puzzle presents does not flatter anything. Does not hide any flaws. Does not provide him any happiness.

He does not know how to find happiness anymore.

And that is maybe the scariest thing of all.

He’s still a teenager, but he feels so much older, like he’s done, like he’s going to go through with something that he doesn’t know what. Something that feels like it might end.

Maybe he should get out of here, maybe he should let Christine handle this alone so he doesn’t end up dying today.

What is he thinking?

He doesn’t expect Rich to keep texting him.

_goodbi: listen here, heere_

_goodbi: what happens out there has nothing 2 do with u. there is nothing u can do 2 control the squip he is a psychopath and a motherfucking asshole he will try 2 hurt us he will try 2 kill us probably. but that is not ur decision 2 make_

_goodbi: it is not up 2 u 2 singlehandedly save the world or r lives when we knew exactly what we r signing up 4 okay_

_goodbi: we r capable of protecting ourselfs and i think ur putting 2 much pressure on urself 2 be the best. face it u cant read his mond and there4 u cant predict everything okay_

_goodbi: joist try ur best and everything will happen one thing @ a time. as long as u do ur best no one can blame u 4 anything_

_goodbi: well they can but we wont let u listen_

He doesn’t expect those horrendously formatted texts to lift his spirits and give him confidence. He doesn’t expect that confidence to come from Rich, his former bully, someone Jeremy still despises.

But he despises him a little bit less now.

Maybe people can really change.

And if that’s true for Rich, it can be true for someone bigger and badder, on a powerful scale.

He shoves his phone in the pocket on his thigh and zips it shut. Ignoring the traffic light, he races toward the place Christine says the Squip is wreaking havoc.

When he gets there, it’s confusing at first. There’s no real gain to destroying any of those buildings. It won’t halt any production or stop any funding or deter any plans as far as Jeremy knows.

He retreats to a block away, to regroup, find Christine, Chloe, and Rich, and make a game plan. So they don’t go in completely blind. So they have a plan that’s better than the last one, which included the whole franchise of Jeremy making decisions a split second too late, without any knowledge of the Squip’s powers.

A hand reaches out to find his shoulder, and he spins, wrapping a web around the person’s wrist and getting ready to tug them away, to hit them hard. And then he pauses. Just Christine, with Chloe and Rich waiting behind her.

Christine stands, braced, fear in her eyes, but just a little bit. More like dread, filling them up. That’s an expression he never wants to see on her face again. More likely because it’s caused by him. He gapes, open mouthed, unsure. Not certain what he should do now that he’s so tense he just attacked one of his teammates.

What has he done?

The guilt hits him out of nowhere, but he forces it back down. It's an edge, a battle edge, of using his powers, he tells himself. And people will end up getting hurt. So he needs to suck it up and handle the sacrifices he has to make.

Has he just placed himself above the lives of those around him? His friend? His acquaintance? His tormentor? Has he thought himself to be better than them, for no other reason except that people get hurt in war?

Is this war? He does not know.

Part of him wants it to be.

The larger part is horrified at the small voice in his head telling him to strike her back.

He lets go and backs up until he makes contact against the wall. It’s good to have something tangible to ground him and make him realize he has the power to fuck things up, so he better not blow it. He better not waste this have he has to fix things, to prove to himself that he can have a result on the course of a small section of humanity.

Rich pokes his arm gently, and Jeremy stares down at him with fear. Nor fear of Rich, just plain terror. He doesn’t know why, because he could probably drop kick Rich to China.

Maybe being a hero is taking a toll on him.

“Snap out of it, Heere,” Rich says, his grip tightening briefly. “We need you for this. Please don’t bug out on us now.”

The vague, assuredly unintentional pun is enough to break Jeremy’s daze. “When did you get so good at pep talks?”

Rich snorts. “I always have been, people just don’t listen. Now, get your ass out there and let’s go kick some butt.”

Jeremy nods, watches Chloe get back in her car. He wishes he had Jenna on the line, or Brooke to scout up above. He wishes he wasn’t the most useful piece on their side of the chessboard. He wishes that he didn’t have to be so dependent on others, but he’s grateful for their help. He couldn’t do this alone.

He’s become too dependent on them, and that will be dangerous.

Jeremy motions for Rich and Christine to follow behind him, and pauses. “Dude,” he mutters, “You don’t have your outfit on.” It occurs to him that Rich doesn’t have an ‘outfit’ at all. He’s never done something like this before.

Rich pales for a moment, and then pulls a wadded up mask from his pocket. They're all supposed to have one with them at all times. Jeremy grimaces.

“It’ll work,” Rich shrugs nonchalantly, tugging it over his head. Christine is in her Songbird costume, the navy and green and blue somehow blending into the darkness of the night. Chloe bursts out of her car, holding a fabric bundle. She tosses the bundle at Rich, who catches it on his face in surprise.

“Careful, Chloe, I almost torched you,” Rich says quietly, but his joking tone is gone. Maybe Jeremy isn’t the only one on edge tonight. Maybe they’re all sensing the fact that someone here might not be coming home.

Jeremy hasn’t been this somber in a long time.

Rich unfolds the black lump in his arms to reveal a large black hoodie. It’s huge, and he stares at Chloe incredulously, like he can’t believe she thinks this would fit him. Jeremy expects him to start to protest.

Instead, he pulls it over his head, drowning in the material. The hood flops around his neck and he has sudden, prominent sweater paws. Rich rolls up the sleeves and pulls the hood over his head, drowning his face in shadow only for it to fall down.

Chloe snaps a picture as he tries to cover his face.

For a superhero, he looks vaguely non threatening.

“What is this?” Rich asks, bemusement on his face. “I know this thing doesn’t fit you.”

“It’s Jake’s,” Chloe says, and wags her phone. “I hope I woke him up with that picture.”

Rich flames a brilliant red, spluttering. Jeremy smirks, and then wonders why Rich looks so bothered.

Christine clears her throat. Everyone halts, and the tenseness comes rushing back in. They’re here to fight, not to engage in camaraderie.

“Thank you guys,” Jeremy blurts. “I don’t know if I would have been able to do this alone.” Christine envelops him in a hug, while Rich punches his shoulder and Chloe rolls her eyes. Christine steps back, and Jeremy raises his eyebrows at Chloe.

She sighs and wraps her arms around him, leaning into the contact more than he would have thought with her reluctance to reveal her emotions. She squeezes tight and for once she isn't big or bad or brave. She's just a pretty teenage girl who might be killed for doing a selfless act for her friends.

“You might have just saved my life,” Jeremy whispers. Chloe tenses. She starts to pull back, so he tugs her closer.

“Jeremy, what do you mean by—”

“Now it's my turn to do the same. I want you to get out of here. Try to get Jenna on the line, something. Stay close, but keep out of danger, okay? I don't want you to get hurt. Please do that for me?”

Chloe stares at him, before hugging him once and nodding. “Absolutely. Yeah. I can do that.” He releases her and she runs back to the car before driving away.

Is that Brooke’s car she’s driving?

Jeremy turns to Rich, who has secured his mask and covered the lower half of his face with a scarf in the bi colors. This is what keeps the hood around his head and not around his neck.

Jeremy snorts. “Where did you get that?” He asks, gesturing to the scarf.

Rich shrugs. “Found it in the pocket. Don't know why Jake has it, but I figured it would come in handy.” Jeremy and Christine share a glance. “What? This could be my new look. People will love it. I’ll be a bi-con.”

Jeremy snorts. “The people would revolt, dude.” He looks over at Christine, who has undoubtedly been reminded of some musical, because her eyes are alight and she’s humming under her breath. “Imagine what they would do if they knew Spiderman was pan.”

Rich hits him on the arm. “Demand their money back, and then freak out when there’s no one left to protect then.” Christine snorts again.

“Come on, guys, we should get going. We’re gonna need to get out there. Anybody got a plan?” Christine asks, and both she and Rich turn to face Jeremy. He stops, and thinks.

“They’re waiting for us,” he concludes. It’s quiet, and most likely a trap, or they thought no one was going to show up to stop them, so they left. “Christine. You said he had backup? Someone else we should be worried about?”

Christine nods. “Yeah, a girl. She’s super tall. Pale, with red hair and green eyes. Freckles. She’s done nothing but stand by him. She’s made no move to do anything to anyone, and I don’t know how much of a power she has. She obviously has something. He keeps pausing and showing her something. She’s like his sidekick? Do villains even have sidekicks?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Just be mindful of her. I’ll go out there, confront him, and if you guys need to, come in for backup. I’ll engage him and see what I can do. Get him to use his abilities, see what all his powers cover. Try to engage the girl, figure out things about her. Something, anything. If I need you, I’ll yell for you. Okay?”

Rich and Christine nod. Jeremy takes one last look at his friends and steps out into the block, searching for the Squip so he knows he isn’t going in blind.

The world closes in on him, in darkness. He freezes up, eyes widening. There’s nothing he can see. Not even close to him. Not at all. He can’t see a single thing.

What surprises him is that he does not scream.

A force hits him like a brick and he flies backward, mouth open behind his mask, and crashes into a building. He regains his sight and sides to the ground, dizzy, disoriented. He aches everywhere and he has double vision.

“So good to see you again, Spider-Man,” the Squip intones, and suddenly he’s in front of Jeremy. “I was beginning to wonder if you would have the guts to show up.”

Jeremy groans, and starts to peel himself off the wall. “More than you,” he snarks. “I’m not the one hiding behind a girl to do my work for me.” He sucks in a desperate breath and it feels like someone kicked his chest in.

The Squip gestures and Jeremy feels like the air around him has solidified. He goes launching backward, but he pulls himself out of it by wrapping a web to a building.

If that was telekinesis, that should have not been possible.

The girl appears out of nowhere, and gestures a hand at the ground. The pavement cracks, black tendrils of smoke creeping out. They solidify around his legs and suddenly he’s burning, burning, screaming out because he can feel it and hear it and see it and––

No he can’t.

Jeremy collapses in a heap, and the Squip makes a bunch of motions with his hands. Jeremy catches sight of his eyes. They are a bright, strange blue that shift and he wants to scream just looking at them.

Jeremy goes rocketing skywards and when he does, he raises his hand straight up and screams. He hopes Rich and Christine catch on.

Jeremy falls back to earth. He stretches his hand out and slings himself to another building, head spinning, dizzy. He catches a glimpse of Christine opening her mouth to yell, to do something, but then he blacks out for a second.

When he comes to, he’s on the roof of a building like he was before. His head swims and there’s the sound of someone snarling and everything is loud, too loud.

Jeremy stands. His friends are still fighting the Squip and his sidekick, whoever she may be. She’s powerful, but not as good as the Squip. She hasn’t struck with her powers at anyone else, as far as he can tell.

Jeremy jumps off the side of the building and swings at her.

He connects with her side. She buckles, screams, and so he wraps a web around her waist as they go skittering out of the battlefield. He connects with the ground and she rolls at him, scratching and clawing. He yanks her hair, she socks him in the stomach.

Take her out, take her out, get her out of here and then take care of the Squip. His mind throws that mantra at him over and over, and his heightened senses don’t seem to help.

“Who are you?” He shouts into her ear, lowering his voice pitch. “Who are you?”

She spits at him, and manages to switch the position so she’s pinning him. “I am the Streak,” she screams, loud and wild and exuberant. She’s high off of the battle. He pushes up at her; she twists his arm around. He shoots a web, eyes wide, as if he has just made a very big mistake.

She breaks his wrist nearly in half.

He screams once, and then falls quiet.

Rich appears out of nowhere and slams his fist into her head. She falls off of Jeremy and stands. Her breathing is ragged. Her vibrant red hair is a mess.

Something flickers, and for a second Jeremy thinks he sees a different face in place of hers, with tan skin and dark hair and his breath catches because he knows that face, knows it well.

The Squip appears at her side and nods.

The Streak extends her hand and the ground splits apart.

Asphalt crumbles, and smoke pours from the ground. Flames leap from the crevice, hot and red and blue and boiling. The air contorts from the heat. The wave of flame pours over towards Rich, until Jeremy cannot see him at all.

From somewhere in the background, Christine screams.

Rich can only control the fire in his veins. He cannot stop fire that is not of his own creation, and he cannot heal himself. Other flames can hurt him, because what protects everyone else only stops his own fire from charring his skin at any second.

Rich does not scream as the toxic flames consume him.

The Streak, however, does.

And then the flames die away and there is Rich, smoke pouring off his short frame, scarf hanging in smoking tatters around his neck. His hands are a balance and he holds one out in front of him, a cocky smirk on his features.

“You think you can get that shit by me?” He rages. “You obviously don’t know what being burned alive feels like! Your fire is too gentle, too tamed! I don’t know what it feels like to burn in hell, but that sure wasn’t it!”

The short kid that Jeremy’s always known as a villain charges forward and decks the startled Squip straight in the face. Jeremy leaps up onto his feet, and Christine barrels right at his pace. Together, for the first time, they fight together.

And damn, if it doesn’t work.

The Squip clutches his bleeding nose and Rich ducks under his arm to face the Streak. Jeremy feels a wave of dizziness when he moves his arm, and tries visibly not to throw up. Christine shouts and sends the vibrations towards the Squip, who is powerless to do anything except send her sprawling.

Jeremy reaches him, kicks him squarely in the jaw, and then staggers to the side. He’s being pulled, he can tell, but he can fight it. He knows he can fight it. He screams in frustration and then turns on the Squip.

He sees the fist rushing at his jaw, and ducks. However, he doesn’t see the knee that hits him squarely in the arm.

He crumples, and manages to take the Squip with him. He lands on his bad arm and drives his good as hard as he can into the Squip’s jaw.

Jeremy is really strong. He can lift thousands of pounds. So it hurts, it must, when he hits the Squip as hard as he can.

The man groans and falls off of him, rolling over onto the ground.

For a moment they just lie there, the two, as the sounds of the fight wash over them. Christine is shouting now, and the Streak is cackling, and then Rich’s surprisingly hoarse scream rips through Jeremy like a cold fist.

“I’ll get you next time, Spider-Man. Be on your guard,” the Squip says darkly. Jeremy sits up to find him standing, staring over at his sidekick. The girl looms over Rich, who clutches his hand to his side. He’s on his knees, staring up with pain and fury in his eyes.

The Squip snaps his fingers. The Streak raises her hands and they both disappear, just like that.

From somewhere in front of him, Jeremy hears the sounds of footsteps running.

He slumps on the ground, gritting his teeth. His arm burns, and he can feel himself healing wrongly. Everything’s all wrong, all broken, all twisted. He slides his eyes closed and grabs his own arm.

With a pained yell, he straightens it out and tries to let it heal. Christine looks up, but doesn’t move from Rich’s side. Jeremy reaches inside his pocket and calls Chloe.

He owes her his life.

“Hey.”

“Where are you?”

“Same place you left us. In the middle of the square though.”

“I’m on my way. I couldn't hear anything from where I was except a lot of screaming. Should I start Gifting Jake’s powers before we go out?”

“No, no. But call Jake, he needs to let us in his house. Rich is hurt, and my arm is broken.”

“Holy fucking shit, Jeremy, say something next time!”

“I did. It's healing now.”

“How bad is Rich?”

“I don't exactly know.”

Jeremy looks over. Rich lets out a pained hiss. “Don't fucking touch me, Christine!”

“Yeah, he’s not super great? He’ll be okay when we get him to Jake.”

“Say no more. I’m almost there.”

“Thanks, Chloe.”

Less than a minute later, Chloe pulls up. Jeremy still hasn’t moved, because strangely, there’s no one around. No one who watches, faces peeking out of the windows they clamor up against. No one to point fingers and tell them they didn’t do a good enough job. Jeremy wouldn’t even know what to say to that. Wouldn’t do anything except nod and acknowledge that they are right, that he should have beaten the Squip, that he could barely even touch him.

Clearly, this man is a more powerful enemy than he thought.

“Jeremy?” Chloe’s voice is right next to his ear. “Hey, Jeremy, get up please, we need to go. Come on.”

Jeremy groans a little bit, head swimming. “Can I have five more minutes?” He mumbles, just wanting to curl up on the ground and sleep. He should have sent them home, but he’s so grateful they came. He couldn’t do this alone.

“Jeremy, get off your ass or I will drag you by your broken arm to my car.” Jeremy looks up at that, and starts to drag himself up. Chloe looks nauseated by his arm, but it isn’t like he hasn’t gotten this hurt before.

However, he’s never quite felt like this before.

This almost almost almost that hurts so bad, that makes him want to give up. This almost almost almost that makes him shore up his defenses and just want to give up.

“Am I alive?” Jeremy mumbles, almost wanting to have Chloe tell him that he isn’t. “Or am I just––just here? Just holding on? Just––am I just here, just––simply lying here, just––just existing?”

He can’t force the words out. He’s loopy. Drifting. He needs something to ground him.

He thinks he needs to talk to Michael.

“What the fuck,” Chloe states.

“I think you saved my life, Chloe,” Jeremy says. “I was going to send everyone home and take care of the Squip myself. I was going to fight him––alone, really, I was going to fight him alone. And I don’t know if I would have––don’t really know if I would have fought––I don’t think… I know I wouldn’t have––I wouldn't have fought him back. And I don’t––I don’t think that I would have––“

He pauses to breathe, and Chloe isn’t in such a hurry anymore. She gapes down at him, her astonishment showing through her facade of not caring.

“I don’t think I would have come back home. You saved—y’know, saved me from myself. When I first met you, I honestly didn’t know you were going to be this important. I didn't know you would be this important to me. So thank you, really, I owe you––I owe you that—that much, at least.”

He splutters for a second. He needs to say more, because he needs Chloe to know she is important, that it’s okay for her to care about them because they care about her. He opens his mouth.

“Jeremy, we’re going to talk about your stupid decisions when you're feeling better, okay? I need you to get up, right now.”

Jeremy complies, staggering. Chloe hefts his good arm over her shoulder. Christine has Rich, and he’s not looking too great. Jeremy doesn’t exactly know what the Streak did to him, but it sure wasn’t good. His hand is still clutched feebly to his side, both protecting it and sheltering his own hand.

Just get to the car, the voice in his head says. Get to the car and everything will be okay.

Together, the four of them stagger to relative safety, nothing else on their mind.

Behind them, buildings burn.

**-o-**

Chloe slams Jake’s door open with her hip, and calls into the depth of the empty house. “Jake Dillinger! Get your ass downstairs, you lazy fucker!” Christine whimpers at the noise. Chloe notices. “Sorry, Christine. No loud noises because of your powers. Got it.”

Jake comes tripping down the stairs. Jeremy sags down into a chair, and Rich tries to hide his injury. Christine is virtually unscathed, only a bruise above her eye.

Jake stares, before moving to Jeremy, who is the most visibly injured. He straightens his arm to a yelp from Jeremy. His hands glow softly and Jeremy’s flesh crawls with shivers. His arm heals within thirty seconds and Jake wipes a hand across his brow.

He looks over. “Anything else, Jeremy?”

The boy shakes his head, clutching his mask in his good hand. “That was it.” Jeremy doesn’t say anything about how the cold, broken feeling inside him cannot be fixed. He does not say anything about the feeling of being a traffic light. He does not say anything about the pain he feels in his chest.

Jake looks up and over at the other three. Rich edges backward. “Anyone else hurt?”

The silence is cloying.

“Rich is,” Chloe says loudly, ignoring the way that Christine presses away from her. Jake’s eyes go straight to the boy in the oversized hoodie and his expression creases.

“No, I’m not,” Rich says, attempting to stand straighter, to stop hunching over, to be a little bit more intimidating. He only succeeds in flinching and wobbling a bit.

Jake says nothing, just shoos Jeremy and Christine and Chloe out. They go willingly, and Chloe starts to talk to Jeremy. Jake finds that strange for a moment, but then they’re gone, and he doesn’t have to pretend to care anymore.

“Don’t lie to my face, Rich. Don’t tell me you’re okay when you’re the only one who won’t be.”

Hurt flashes across Rich’s face. “When I’m the only one who can’t handle myself? When I’m the only one who is even in danger of getting hurt? Because I’m what, weak? Breakable? You think I can’t be good enough?”

That’s the thing about Rich: he’s overly defensive and hardly lets down his borders. It’s taken Jake too long to get them down low enough so he can climb over. It’s taken him long enough to really get to know his best friend.

Rich transferred to their school in sophomore year. He had this big bravado personality with other people, but Jake had started to notice that he would change his personality to whatever the other person seemed to like. With Chloe it had been flirty but disinterested. With Brooke it had been joking and charismatic. With Dustin it had been fierce and intimidating, as well as good natured and slightly idiotic. He used that personality to bully guys alongside Dustin.

With Jake, Rich had always seemed to change, to search for a handhold to cling to, a way to act around Jake. He had been flamboyant one day, stony and silent the next. Jake had finally asked him what was going on and Rich had flushed a strange, curious red.

Rich had said it was hard to read him, hard to tell what he would tolerate because the people he surrounded himself with were all different. Every single person was strange and complex and polar opposites of one another.

Jake had told him to go into theater. He was so impressed, but there had been a thought nagging at the back of his brain that he refused to acknowledge until Rich had been in an accident involving his dad or something. No one really knew, except that a fire was set and Rich had escaped with major burning along his entire body but sparing most of his face.

When he had visited Rich in the hospital, he had been shocked to see every bit of Rich’s demeanor swept away. The boy in front of him had been nerdy and trembling and exhausted and it had made Jake hurt for him, because he didn’t see Rich. He just saw someone who was afraid, and hopeless.

He had seen someone who had given up, who had stopped fighting, and he knew that most of Rich’s walls had shattered. Jake had wanted to get to know him, but only if Rich chose to let him. Only if Rich chose to open those doors and let him in. He had asked Rich if he would consider it, if he would even want people to know him, because Jake understands not wanting people to know him at all.

He will never forget the look of surprise and gratefulness when Jake asked him, when he offered him a choice and a chance despite everything.

He knows that Rich is still scared of that same something that Jake will never know. He knows that Rich still has nightmares of the fire. He knows that Rich has had a hard time adjusting to his burn scars. He also knows that almost a year from the fire, Rich has had to deal with facing one of his biggest fears: fire. He has had to accept that the fire will never leave him.

That he might always be that terrified, hurt kid in the hospital bed scarred beyond repair.

A year later, he still wonders if he really knows the real Rich Goranski at all.

“No, Rich,” Jake says, but anger is surging in his gut. Can’t Rich just get rid of his stupid pride and let Jake help him? “I think you do the best you can and that puts you in danger. I think you try so hard you think that it’s not okay to hold back. And I think that you might really need to stop and let me help you because you’re hurt.”

Rich’s eyes widen. “I’m not,” he states, but his statement has become a whisper now.

“You are,” Jake says, and reaches for his elbow, pulls him off the wall. “I can see it. You’re hurting, and I think you should let me help you.”

Rich allows himself to be led up the stairs, allows himself to be taken care of, allows himself to be vulnerable. Allows himself to be open, in a way he never is. Jake notices, Jake sees, and he feels his chest clench.

He sees how Rich grits his teeth, and winces as he takes his steps. Jake sees him clutch at his side and his hand. And he knows, somehow, that Rich has guessed what happens to him, and that he was trying to prevent that from happening again.

So he knows, he knows, he knows, that Rich cares. But more importantly, he knows that Rich is hurting.

He wraps his hand around the banister, his arm caging in Rich so that he doesn’t fall down the stairs. Just in time, too. Rich staggers heavily, thumping back into Jake. He lets out a grunt.

“Need help?” Jake asks, and Rich shakes his head. Five more steps and they’re on the top step. Rich sinks to his knees, and Jake kneels by his side, waiting patiently.

“Just a few more steps, okay?” He asks. He places his hands on Rich’s shoulders. “Do you need help getting back up?” He should have just helped him on the couch. He just thought this would be a little more private, would be a little more secure and easier for Rich.

No one would be there to see the aftereffects either, except Rich. And he trusts Rich with his life.

“No,” Rich snaps, but he does accept Jake’s hands under his arms, helping him, even though he keeps vehemently protesting. “I’m okay, really.”

“You’re about to collapse,” Jake argues, and Rich recoils from the sting in his words. “There’s something wrong and I can fix it. I can fix it, man. I can help you. Heal you. So why the fuck are you hiding it from me?”

“I’m weak,” Rich replies, and suddenly Jake knows what this is all about, and he knows this has a very direct connection to what Jeremy said in the basement the other day. Rich won’t look at him, so Jake squeezes his shoulders.

“And what’s wrong with that?” He asks. He thinks it’s more of an adequate response than the standard ‘you’re not’. “You’re literally about to pass out on me, and you won’t even tell me why you look like I could poke you with a feather and you would black out. What’s wrong with accepting a little help from someone who can give it and won’t judge you? I won’t judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jake says sincerely.

Rich looks away, and Jake leads him to his bedroom. He’s still in the sweats and T-shirt he wore to bed, but he pushes the covers off and helps Rich sit down. The smaller boy starts to lean back, but Jake stops him.

“Hoodie off,” he says, and Rich goes white. Jake frowns. “Hey, is that my sweatshirt?”

“Chloe had it,” Rich chokes out, moving his arm. Jake catches one of his hands from where they’re gripping the hem, hard.

“Let me help you,” he says, but Rich shakes his head and jerks the material off. He groans, and Jake stares.

Rich’s fingers on one hand are bent back, three of them completely broken. His left side is covered in damp sticky red. Jake just stares at him.

“You were going to hide this from all of us for who knows how long?” He asks, voice raising a bit. Rich looks away.

Jake reaches for his hand, straightening his fingers out as Rich yelps loudly. He starts to heal him, hands glowing. Rich rocks forward, mouth open in a soundless scream. Jake holds his shoulder down with one hand and grips onto Rich’s hand with the other. He can feel the bones sliding into place. Jake grimaces.

When he stops, Rich pitches forward, forehead slick with sweat. “Oh my god, never do that to me again,” he mutters.

“I have to,” Jake says regretfully. “Take off you shirt so I can get to your side.”

Rich grimaces, and then just grabs his shirt with both hands and ends up tearing the already torn shirt in half. Jake gulps. He motions for Rich to lay back on the bed and the shorter boy does so, eyes wide and apprehensive.

Rich’s side is a mess. There’s a gash running across his ribs, and several other slices along his side. Rich gives him a half assed, pain filled smile. “He had a sidekick. She had a knife. Probably didn’t expect to use it, since she didn’t pull it on anyone else. Didn’t expect me to not fall for her trick sight thing.”

“An illusion?” Jake asks. Rich grimaces and nods. “Okay. This is gonna hurt,” Jake warns. He knows Rich is extremely sensitive to touch after he uses his powers a little bit. Rich fists his hands in the bedsheet and motions for him to go ahead.

Jake tries to go as fast as he can. The glow from his skin sheds a strange light over the way Rich’s skin knots itself back together. Rich arches a bit off the bed, eyes bulging, mouth falling open. Jake lays his elbow across Rich’s chest again to hold him down, to keep him from twisting and thrashing.

Rich screams then, loud and pained and torturous. Footsteps pound up Jake’s stairs. Jake does one final pass over the wound and watches Rich writhe. He tries to hurry, tries to finish up quickly so his best friend isn’t in pain anymore. The flesh closes as fast as it can, and Jake rocks backward with a soft sigh.

Chloe bursts into the room, quickly followed by Jeremy and a much slower Christine. Jake slumps backward, vision spinning, skin suddenly alight with pain. He winces, rubbing at his head. He can see it in his mind, the knife going into Rich’s skin, can feel his fingers being twisted and broken.

That’s the thing about Jake’s power. He literally transfers his energy to the person he’s healing. He gets so exhausted that sometimes he gets sick. He can also feel every ounce of their pain and see the memories of how they got hurt. It takes them away from them, if he really wants. He just knows that instinctively. He hasn’t had to use it.

He never wants to have to use it.

“Jake, what the fuck?” Chloe rages. Rich holds up a hand, still pale but none the worse for wear except his clothes. “Rich, why are you half naked––oh…okay, we’ll leave you to it.”

Jeremy snorts and Jake lets out an exasperated yell that just sounds like a very frustrated whine. He flushes red.

“I’m straight, you dipshit,” he calls, but he knows he’s lying. Thankfully, no one else does.

Chloe and Jeremy leave and Christine remains silhouetted in the doorway. Jake raises an eyebrow and tries to stop himself from swaying. Rich sinks back into the pillows, the memory of pain still on his face. Jake stares for a moment, feeling guilty, feeling hurt, feeling like he hasn’t done enough.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, through the headache and the yawn. He’s swaying again, but he can barely tell. It hurts, but he won’t say anything, won’t make another sound.

“Jake?” Rich asks carefully, cautiously. Jake hums in response and keeps his eyes closed. “Dude, you’re gonna––“ He grabs Jake by the elbow. Jake groans a bit, then curses internally as Rich leaps back. Whoops. Didn’t really mean for that to happen.

“Bro, what just happened? You were good and then…” He trails off with a weird spazzy motion. “You look like––are you gonna pass out? You look hurt.”

Jake shakes his head both yes and no, and then shrugs his shoulders. “My power has aftereffects like everyone else,” he mutters. “I just get tired, and I can see what happens to people when they get hurt. It hurts, too.”

He senses Rich’s frown more than he sees it. “What do––it hurts? What?”

“I basically took your pain so you didn’t have to feel it, and then I fixed you,” Jake states simply. He just wants to curl up in his bed and try and sleep the pain away, and then pop like three or four ibuprofen and hope he doesn’t have to deal with anything for a while.

“You what.” Rich asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“I took it away.” Rich shifts and it shakes the bed. Jake closes his eyes tightly and wraps his arms around his knees, keeping it together.

“So…it’s gone?” Rich asks, unsure. Jake shakes his head. “Then what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go downstairs and get me a glass of water and maybe some ibuprofen?” He sounds needy and whiny.

“Ibuprofen?” Rich disappears, and Jake hears him running down the steps. His head aches. He tried to turn off his side and winces. He never should have said anything. He should have just kicked everyone else out of his house. Should have just shut up. He wants to change what he’s done.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

Rich pops back in the door, glass in hand and pills clutched in his other fist. Jake is still sitting up, face buried in his knees.

“Why do you need this?” Rich asks, withholding the glass from Jake. The taller boy makes a grabbing hand at him but does not move. “Seriously. Answer me or I’m not giving this to you.”

“Fine,” Jake grumbles, heart sinking in his chest. “I feel it. It doesn’t go away. I just take it.”

Rich nearly drops the glass. “That’s why you’re hurting?” He asks. Jake nods, dizzy. God, how did Rich stand this? This is the worst he’s felt in a long time. “Fuck, man, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because then people would stop depending on me because they were trying to protect me.”

It’s a quiet admission, filled with guilt and loathing. Rich simply looks at him, quietly watching, waiting, full of silence.

“You’ll be alright?” He asks, full of worry, and that makes Jake feel horrible inside.

“Fake it til you make it,” he replies, and gingerly falls back on his bed.

“Do you mind if I stay with you?” Rich asks. “This is my fault and I want to make sure.” He doesn’t say that he wants to make sure Jake will be okay. But Jake can tell anyway.

In response, the taller boy scoots over on the bed. Rich sits beside him and then lays down, giving Jake as much room as possible. They’re adjusting to both fit on his bed when Jake accidentally brushes his hand against Rich’s arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scooting over farther. He doesn’t want to fall off the bed. “I know you hate being touched after you use your powers.”

“No, it’s fine,” Rich answers, and then hesitates. “You’re cold. It’s different. I don’t get cold anymore. It’s a nice change.”

Jake sucks in a quiet breath. His judgement tells him not to, but he kind of wants to. Should he? Should he?

He reaches out, wraps an arm around Rich, tugging him closer on the bed. Rich doesn’t even flinch, just curls around him and into his chest. His warm skin feels like it’s burning, to Jake.

They just lay there quietly for a while, breathing, taking a moment to not worry about the world around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and leave kudos! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


	4. 4| denying you need someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Friend, Please by 21 Pilots 
> 
> This one is kind of an oof chapter? The first scene was good, but the other two––just oof. Pay them no mind. Liketally in one all anyone does it fight and then it ends. 
> 
> Oh wait, that’s two of the three. Never mind. 
> 
> Finally, a Michael and Jeremy interaction! They’ll be in the next chapter soon. Shit’s about to go down, tbh.

Jeremy reclines back against Michael’s backpack, grinning, laughing at some joke Michael made that he can’t really even remember.

They’re in the rehearsal for the spring musical, and Michael’s on the tech crew. Jeremy has gotten a lead role in this one, but what surprises everyone is that Rich ended up getting the second main.

The tech crew works with them all the time, staging both blocking and lights every day to test out the skills of new members. It's not something Jeremy would personally recommend, but he knows it’s needed. Ever since the success of the fall play, even tone deaf kids want to join the musical. They have a handicapped kid running the supervision of props, and she’s fantastic.

Michael and Jenna work the switchboard. Jenna also does the mikes. She uses her power to make sure nothing ever malfunctions, because they have a shitty system and no money to get a better one. Jeremy remembers the day when she wasn't there and everything crashed. The next day, it had been up and running again, and the maintenance worker had said it looked better than even brand new.

Michael had gone back to lights after that, claiming everything was a bit too much and Jenna was better at it anyway. The perks of being a technopath, Jeremy assumes.

To be honest, just knowing that Michael is up there, operating the lights, technically brightening up Jeremy’s world, sets his writer’s metaphors and similes alight. Michael does brighten him up. He does light him up from within, and gives him a place to shine.

Maybe it’s possible that Michael himself is the light.

Maybe it’s possible that Michael is the reason Jeremy can find a way to shine this brightly.

It’s two minutes after rehearsal ended, and things are already looking up. It’s been a great day, Jeremy thinks, because he has done nothing but talk with his friends and Michael. Michael, who is much more than a friend to him, on who he is largely codependent. Michael, who knows when he is lying but lets him keep his secrets anyway. Michael, who has been there for him through everything that he can't ever know about.

Michael, who must never know about Jeremy’s powers.

Michael, who Jeremy would undoubtedly die for.

Jeremy watches his best friend flip some switches, hair flipping into his face. He resists the urge to reach up from his position on the ground and push it away. He wants to card his fingers through Michael’s hair. He wants to tug gently, to see how Michael reacts. He wants to messily pull on the strands and kiss Michael hard, sloppily, and crush their mouths together dizzyingly until he thinks he’ll die if he holds his breath any longer.

He wants to kiss Michael so bad. There’s a very vivid description in his head of what could happen, what he wants to happen, what he needs to happen. He wants Michael to pin him down on the ground and press his full weight on him. He wants Michael’s mouth on him, down his neck, on his lips, across his chest, everywhere. He wants to rake his nails down Michael’s back, hard and scrabbling, leaving lines. He wants Michael to mark him, wants Michael between his thighs, spreading him open, showing him he is worthy of being loved by him.

He needs it, he wants it. Somehow, he cannot separate the two.

Fuck, now is not the time.

“Distract me.” Jeremy tries to control his too-loud volume and flips onto his stomach to conceal the raging boner he’s just pulled in the middle of a tech booth.

“From what?” Michael asks, flipping another switch and then dimming the lights.

“The inevitable failure of my chemistry test today,” Jeremy blurts. He rolls his eyes and winces. Chemistry is hard, yes. His lowest grade by far. But he really is obvious. His voice sounds slightly strained.

Michael looks down at him and snorts. “You look like a starfish, bro.” Jeremy flips him off, face connecting with the linoleum floor of the tech booth. “Don't do that, starfish are cool.” Michael pauses, reconsiders. “Nah, a starfish is cooler than you.”

“I feel loved,” Jeremy jokes.

“You shouldn't,” Michael snorts, turning the lights back up. “This combination better than the others?”

Jeremy sits up, tugging the hems of both his shirt and his cardigan down and wincing when his knuckles accidentally dig into his pants. “Add a dangly light thing and it’ll look like level seven of Apocalypse of the Damned.”

“A dangly light thing?” Michael peruses his controls. “You really did fail that chemistry test, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy groans without missing a beat. He shifts and tries to keep from letting out a soft whine. Only a choked gasp stutters past his lips. He buries his face in his hands as Michael looks down, eyes curious.

“Yikes, dude.” Michael shifts in his seat, pushing his hair out of his face. Jeremy shudders a bit. He needs to get a handle on the situation but all he can think about is running his hands though Michael’s hair and being pushed roughly into his headboard. Michael’s fingers gripping his wrists, locking them together. The intense rocking that has the bed slamming into the wall because they're all alone.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He drops off with a sigh and rolls his eyes, twisting uncomfortably on the floor. “I actually didn't have time to study. I don't envy the freshman taking chemistry for honors this year,” Jeremy mumbles, fully aware that that is a thing because apparently Jake took it as a freshman for honors credit and still brags about it to this day.

“People have time for that shit?” Michael asks, snorting. “Those dweebs. You know, we get picked on for being nerds, but between us, I think we have maybe one or two honors classes all of high school?”

“Three,” Jeremy corrects absentmindedly. “I took the world civ one last year.”

Michael frowns, twists the wires from his headphones. Jeremy resists the urge to reach up and bat one like a cat.

“Right,” Michael admits slowly. “Forgot about that one.”

“You were too busy getting high to be in that class,” Jeremy jokes, but he regrets it as soon as he says it. Another moment more and Michael’s face falls. Fuck, what’s wrong with him?

Another heartbeat, and he’s back to smiling. “You're probably right,” the dark haired teen admits, pushing those strange glasses up his nose. Jeremy just laughs it off, feeling flustered and unsure. Like he’s talking to a stranger. He pulls out his phone.

**_Chat: Jerrmy is gay for Michael Mell_ **

i _amheere: fuck_

_iamheere: mission ducking abort you guys_

_iamheere: fucking_

_iamheere: i done messed up_

“Sorry, that was a bit rude,” Jeremy apologizes, wanting this strangeness between them to go away. Michael shrugs.

Jeremy honestly wants to scream at this boy for being so damn oblivious. The only good thing about that strange passive aggressive argument was that his boner went away. He doesn't even know what he said wrong.

Doesn’t know how many times he’s said something wrong and hasn’t known how to fix it.

And the divide is back, the fence is back, the wall is up, and holy mother he didn’t realize how far apart they’ve grown. How much the gate that let them cross has rusted shut. And maybe this is for the best but it doesn’t feel that great, not because Michael is the only one who understands him and he can’t lose his best friend of almost thirteen years.

Maybe he just wants to get rid of it but he doesn’t know how.

And they’ve hit an awkward patch. Jeremy used to know how to fix it, used to know how to make everything okay. Now he just stumbles over his thoughts and Michael watches him try to stay glued together, to do more than start and slow and stop.

Start and slow and stop, skittering to a lengthy pause which they both curse because that means they can’t move forward. They’re stuck in place with no way to determine when they can move on. Just like a traffic light.

Maybe Jeremy is the roadblock, the stop sign; maybe Jeremy is the thing that should just get out of the way.

He is the traffic light; he is overlooked and unnoticed and it isn’t likely to change unless someone wants something from him.

“You’re fine,” Michael says off handedly, beginning to shut down the lighting board that their school has, to their eternal surprise. Jeremy feels a little bit more of his lighthearted mood go with it. Like the lighting has gone and so has his positivity.

He brushes his shoulders off, trying in vain to deflect the mood, and stands up.

Jeremy watches Michael turn the lights off, and one by one, they flicker out, like they won’t be turned on in a very long time. There’s a resigned flicker, one he strains to hear again and again, a small click from either the light or the switch that Jeremy emphasizes with.

It sounds like a sigh.

He remembers everything that happened at Chloe’s house, when they first discovered most of their powers. When no one trusted anyone and things were all so new. So much has changed.

Maybe now he has become even more tired than before.

The two leave the theater, closing the huge door behind him. Even after school, this place is crowded. People still teem the hallways, like a big rushing river. Is there a football game going on that Jake never told them about?

Why would Jake want to invite a loser like Jeremy anyways?

“I heard Spiderman fought the Squip last night,” Michael says, and Jeremy looks over at him, already wondering what he’s going to say. What he’s going to think of the desperate fight that took place, one that had no purpose and no people to save?

His arm aches briefly at the memory, and he looks away.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice cracking edging just a bit on too casual, too inquisitive at the same time. Michael stares for a moment, like he’s going to abandon his sentence to ask Jeremy what’s wrong with him and _how can he help, damn it, how can he fix him_ but Jeremy _can’t be fixed, can’t he see that?_

“Jeremy?” Michael says, quietly this time, and his hand finds Jeremy’s shoulder. “Hey, remember to breathe.” It’s those words in his voice that Jeremy remembers so well, that Jeremy knows because of the countless times he has stopped doing that very action in Michael’s presence.

Why is he so surprised that Michael notices it today?

“Oh, yeah, no I wasn’t––sorry, I just forgot to. That’s all,” The words sound fake and hollow and he wants to scream but he doesn’t think he has enough air in his lungs to do that.

“You forgot to breathe?” Michael scoffs, and his incredulous tone makes Jeremy flinch and draw himself in. What’s wrong with him?

“Yeah,” Jeremy agrees, unsure why he even said anything at all. “You were saying? Spiderman? The Squip?”

Michael studies him softly, a hint of concern tightening his jaw. “Yeah. He went––Apparently the Squip was destroying some unimportant buildings and the Spiderman went out to stop him. He brought Songbird and some new guy. Did you see?”

When Jeremy shakes his head, Michael studies him. “You always miss the live coverage, man. I would have expected you to be awake.”

“This city can never catch a break anyway,” Jeremy retorts. “How am I supposed to keep it all straight? It isn’t my life.”

He contradicts himself so much.

Michael rolls his eyes at that. “Anyway, so you know the Songbird? Killer voice, can manipulate sound waves and that shit and use them against people? She was there. Spiderman was there. Also, this new guy. Like, he could do the flame thing.”

“The flame thing?” Jeremy inquires, half a fond smile on his face.

“Yeah, like, _whoosh whoosh_ motherfuckers, guess who’s the littest of them all? And then he literally lit up in a blaze. While wearing a scarf with the bi colors around his face in place of a costume. What a total badass, man. Like, a legitimate icon. Could anyone at this school _please_ be that cool?”

Jeremy laughs, small and contained, because _Jeremy, your gay is showing._ “I’m just gonna take a moment to save you saying ‘whoosh whoosh motherfuckers’ in my mind. Let me do that and I will endure your ramblings about the team of heroes that you think all work together.”

Michael snorts, but there’s hurt in his eyes. Jeremy curses himself a bit. “Hey, hey, you know I love it. I love hearing you talk about the things you love. Okay? Don’t be worried about me thinking you’re being annoying, because you aren’t.”

The smile Michael sends him could light up several lightbulbs.

‘So, tell me who they are again? I’m never up to date on this.” Yes he is, but he wants to see Michael smile with no cares in the world, even if the subject matter is kind of creepily stalkerish considering Jeremy is Spiderman. But hey, anything for this boy that he would do anything for.

“Okay, so you know Spiderman, and Songbird, and now we have the new guy, the Bicon––that’s what the Internet is calling him, not the Blazer or something equally as cool––“

“That’s not cool at all.” Rich will be pleased to know his name has been thought of by someone else, but to be honest, the person who started that was probably just Rich on one of his many secret tumblr accounts from before sophomore year.

“Shut up, you didn’t know what voring was until I told you. You’re not cool.”

“I know.”

“Then we have the Breeze, which is the girl who flies. But there’s a rumor that she doesn’t fly, but that's crap. And they can all heal themselves. Like, can you imagine? Spiderman broke his arm and I’m sure it just healed like that. Like, if he snapped his fingers. That fast.”

“Maybe not quite that fast, Michael.”

“No, definitely that fast. But oh, the Squip had a sidekick? Like, no one knows her name, but damn, apparently. She’s got some weird power? Like, no one really knows.”

“I heard about her,” Jeremy says hastily, desperate to look like he knows a little something about his secret life. “I heard her name was the Streak? Ya know, Squip, Streak, blah blah,” Jeremy trails off, waving his hand.

“Really? Who told you that?” Michael asks, somewhat excited about finding another superhero nerd.

“Uh, I think I heard Dustin saying something about it,” Jeremy lies quickly.

“Heard me saying what now?” Just his luck: Dustin Kropp, in the flesh. Tall and dark haired and lanky but somehow muscular. Very easy on the eyes.

“How the Squip’s sidekick––she’s pretty kickass––you said her name was the Streak,” Michael pipes up.

Dustin’’s face gains a strange expression. He stares off into the distance, and Jeremy really hopes he doesn’t call him out. He can see him figuratively stroking his chin, thinking of something. Jeremy can’t really tell, but it’s the strangest thing he’s seen all day.

“The Streak,” Dustin muses, and Jeremy thinks of the red headed girl from the other night. “Yeah, that would suit her.” With that, he turns and walks off.

“What the fuck,” Michael says, shaking his head.

  
“I’m pretty sure he’s doing meth,” Jeremy comments, suppressing a snort. “He looked like he was on something.”

“Dude, we literally do weed, what the fuck? You sound like a popular kid,” Michael retorts.

“No I don’t,” Jeremy snaps defensively. “The popular kids are the ones doing it. Besides, how would you know?”

Michael just stares at him. “Because I’m the subject of all the comments they’re always throwing around! Y’know, the snips that Jenna Rolan is always taking at me? The yelling from Rich? You sound just like them! And I know you guys hang out now, but I didn’t think you’d become one of them!”

Michael stops yelling and goes red. Jeremy freezes up, wondering how they got here, what he can say to make the traffic light turn from red to green.

The first thing out of his mouth is not very wise at all.

“They’re still doing that?”

“Of _course_ they’re still doing it! What did you think, they were just gonna stop? Just gonna change for no reason and decide to be nice to Nobody Mell just because someone who doesn’t care much about him, apparently, has started hanging with him? I didn’t think you were that oblivious!”

Michael’s yelling by now, loudly. Everyone watches. Jeremy can see Christine staring at them with worry on her face. Jake’s looking at them from further down the hall, as if he might need to come break something up.

“Well _excuse me_ for thinking better of people then,” Jeremy snaps, furious. He doesn’t even know why. But when Michael gets mad, he flies off the handle equally as fast. “Sorry for thinking people are capable of having feelings and learning how to change!”

He should stop right there, but he doesn’t.

“But maybe they do! Maybe they have changed, maybe they’re nicer! And you’re the one who isn’t! Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know how to fucking play nice! They’ve changed, Michael, and you just haven’t! Grow up a bit, huh?”

Michael stares down at him, eyes all dark and squinty behind his glasses, and he turns around and leaves. He’s furious. Jeremy’s only seen him like this a couple times before. And he’s surprised it happened so fast this time.

He needs to go after him and apologize for everything. Why did it happen so fast today? Why did it happen at all?

Jeremy doesn’t stand around staring for long. He tugs once on his backpack straps and spins on his heel, marching for the exit opposite the school. Looks like he’ll be walking home today.  
  
Christine scurries after him, banging the locker door shut too hard. She’s lucky she got a top locker, even though she’s short. Jeremy brushes past her, with a strange feeling bubbling in his veins. He suddenly feels like he needs to get away.

He breaks into a sprint, breathing rapidly, vision narrowing. His head swims with all the things he could have said.

He could have ended that fight before it even started. Most of that is his fault.

The rage still simmers in his gut and he wants, no _needs_ , to scream.

“I’m sorry.”

Another step, another pause.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns the corner.

“I’m sorry.”

The watchful stares of everyone else vanish.

“I’m so sorry.”

He slings his backpack across his shoulders.

“Sorry.”

He ducks outside, closing the door behind him.

“Jeremy, wait!”

He starts to run.

“Jeremy, stop!”

It’s like nothing else is really real.

“Jeremy!”

Distorted, foggy, separated.

_I’m sorry._

_So sorry._

_So, so sorry._

_I’m so, so sorry._

“STOP!”

He’s suddenly blown off his feet, toppling into the ground. He slams to a stop, covered in dirt and having plowed through the yard of some random homeowner who unfortunately lives by a school for teenagers.

Christine runs across the road with her small legs, glancing around and around repeatedly to make sure no one saw her use her powers. Jeremy plants his hands down into the dirt and pushes himself up. He thinks that he’s scraped something. Bruised his ribs, too. He’s definitely injured, but he won’t say anything to Christine. He’s already hurt enough people today.

Jeremy spins to face her, anger polluting his face. She stops several feet away from him.

“What the hell, Christine?” He spits, this newfound anger still bubbling in his veins. It’s a surge that takes over him and he wants to destroy something. Wants to hurt, suddenly, and assure himself that he can never be hurt.

If one fight makes him this mad, who hurt the Squip and how badly?

“You need to calm down!” She stares at him, and he clearly knows what she has chased him down to say. She just wants the information. There isn’t anything she can do.

“What do you want? Say it, I know you want to.” He’s being needlessly cruel.

She swallows, watches him with distrust, as if he might start screaming at her any moment now. He just might. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

“Why did Michael––uh, what happened? Are you okay?”

He simply looks at her. She stares back, softly, somehow. He’s struck with the sudden urge to be gentle around her, to be kind and thoughtful and hopeful. The sudden compulsion to tell her about it. To talk to her. Open. Vulnerable.

No, he can’t go down that road.

“Michael and I just got into a fight, Christine. It’s not a big deal.” He swallows, trying to work over the lie. It is a big deal. It’s the worst fight he thinks he’s been in with Michael to date.

He thinks he’s deserved it.

“He’s just mad. He’ll get over it. I’ll get over it. Besides, it was bound to happen someday.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Christine inquires. Jeremy shakes his head. “You should talk about it. You need to. You’ve been through so much lately, you’re Spiderman! You need the chance to talk about it. To talk to somebody.”

She’s offering him the olive branch. She’s giving him the chance to let go and just talk to her. That couldn’t sound nicer. Couldn’t sound more normal.

“Bound to talk about it sooner or later,” he replies instead, feeling foggy, feeling bubbly, wanting nothing more than to scream and maybe break down a door or a window or throw something or maybe all three and then some more. “I’d rather do it never, but I don’t think that will happen.”

He glances around, before letting loose with a web from his wrist and slinging up and away. Just a street, he tells himself, before he’ll get back on the ground, or find a different route. Just a bit before he has to let himself go and return to reality to face the fact that he isn’t kind to his best friend anymore and his best friend isn’t kind to him.

Christine stands there, worried, because she’s seen Jeremy self destruct before and he’s doing it again. Because maybe he has been doing it for a very long time and no one has noticed. Christine stands there, forgetting, because she would like to pretend that this didn’t happen so she can go back to being happy. So that everything can be easy again.

Can’t she delay reality for one more day?

She turns, walks away, wondering if this is what being a teen means, if this is what having friends means, and if Jeremy is really her friend and if he would understand what she has done. Wonders if anyone would understand what she has done, what she might have to do. Wonders if they will forgive her.

From the bushes that Jeremy didn’t plow through, Dustin Kropp watches with wide, sickened eyes. He just saw everything, and he wishes he never did. That he never walked here, never decided to cut through this street. He stares, devastated, and wonders how he is supposed to lie now that he knows.

At least he knows who to come to when his run is officially done.

The Streak. It suits her, it really does. Such a shame he’s only hearing of her alias now.

**-o-**

She throws the window open, hoisting her boot over the side. There’s a fire escape there, and he waits for her down below. He’s just come from school, and so has she: on the one day she bothers to show up there. They have all their classes together, so he brings her all her work and turns it in for her and she simply shows up on the day she has tests and quizzes.

He doesn’t ask why she doesn’t show up. She never tells him.

She doesn’t really even know if deep down inside her, there is a reason at all.

“Madi, hurry up, your lazy ass is gonna cost us time,” her friend calls. He has black hair and dark eyes, but he’s strangely pale. It’s not a terrible thing, because his muscled arms and washboard abs make up for it in many different departments.

She snags her backpack and slides over to the side. When she shuts her window, she catches a glimpse of her reflection. Wide eyed, wild dark hair, a sickeningly strange smile plastered over her face. She changes it then, aware it’s her strange one that comes out when she’s overthinking. She changes it, because she does not think he will like who she is.

Madeline hurries down the fire escape, slugging her friend in the arm. He winces, and playfully flicks the ends of her hair. She shrieks in surprise but laughs, relaxing into his gentle touch and familiar presence. She’s hardly ever seen him angry. The last time was a few years ago. She’s forgotten what it even looks like.

“Where are we going today?” Madeline asks. She looks around, from the shitty apartment her parents own, to the graffitied walls that make up any normal day surrounding. She looks to the blue overcast sky, and sees nothing but a normal day and a promise of something.

“I decided to surprise you,” is the response. Madeline snorts, sticking out her leg and tripping him. He stumbles, but catches himself extraordinarily fast. She raises a plucked eyebrow.

“You been taking self defense or something?” She queries, holding out her hand and examining the nails. Black, just like her soul.

“Something,” he agrees, and she snorts again. There's just something intoxicatingly about being with him like this. The tangibility, the understanding that passes between them every time they talk. The easy and courageous way she talks to him.

“Be careful with the way you talk to me,” she remarks, but her tone of voice is cold. “Don't make me figure out what you're hiding, Dustin.” She means every single word of it. She tolerates him because she cares for him, maybe even a bit more. He is hers, but she does not like those who keep secrets or lie to her.

When they do, she wrecks them.

Dustin tases her side, then, and grabs her waist before she falls. So he will catch her, then. Or is he just waiting for her to fall?

It’s all fun and games until somebody falls in love.

But she won’t, and she hasn’t.

She decides to take her internal conflicts out on Number 507 when she next gets the chance.

“Of course I am, Madi,” he jokes, but there’s an undercurrent of steel. They are both broken and controlling, these two lost souls. He knows her damaged bits, she knows his inner torment and sense of purpose. But he does not know anything of her secret. All of her secrets.

At one time she would have told him. But he is too righteous, too kind, to easy to fall into the embrace of heroism. So now she keeps her silence, ready to destroy anyone who harms him. She should tell him, she really should. But she knows that knowing this secret will only lead to his ruin.

She is full of wrath.

The two round the corner, Madeline stretching onto the tops of her toes to see past Dustin’s raven head. There is no one there, no cars passing by. She giggles. This is so much more fun than being in school.

“Where are you taking me?”

The truth about Madeline? It isn’t hard to come by.

She stretches out her hand, and for an instant she lets him feel more acutely. He jerks out for her to keep going, and she wonders why he is in such a rush. She’s powerful: she can force him to slow down. She can do anything she wants.

For that reason, maybe, is the reason why she does not.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, a hand on her arm. For a moment she imagines his fingers tightening painfully. She pictures him grabbing her, dragging her, and she knows that she will destroy him if it comes to that.

Madeline likes to keep her options open.

They continue on for two blocks like this, in this strange space where they’re half touching and not at all. In the middle of this half feeling and not feeling at all. She’s not even sure if she knows how, and frankly, she doesn’t want to.

Anger surges in her gut at the thought of caring for anything at all, most especially something she cannot control.

A few more turned corners and shifty glances from the street cop, and Dustin opens the door to an empty building. Madeline stares at him in disappointment. She looks up, and around, and sees nothing but fallen ceiling tiles and water stained walls.

“What is this place?” She asks, bitterness creeping into her voice. She wants to yell, to show him what it feels like to be disappointed.

“I know, it doesn’t look like much, but that’s not what we’re here for,” Dustin assures her.

“It doesn’t look like anything at all,” she snips, turning her critical eye over to the rotting baseboards.

“Yeah, now come here.” Dustin turns down a hallway and opens up a door in this abandoned building that she wants to leave. He pushes on a spot above the knob a few times and the wood swings open. Madeline gasps.

For once, an off-kilter smile appears over her lips.

It’s a dance studio, with a walled mirror and a barre. He’s found a spot for them, a spot for her to dance.

She smiles at him, knowing she looks deranged. The grin spreads and she tugs her backpack off her shoulders. Her shoes are taken off next, as well as the socks. She takes her dance shoes out of the bag and laces them up.

So she stands in the middle of this run down dance studio, in a black shirt and dark jeans, a blissful look on her face. Dustin smiles, and the snark is gone, the smirk is gone. He is still the same boy he has always been, but different.

She walks over, flits a bit, because she is a dancer and this is what she does, this is what she is good at. She casually makes herself appear more graceful in his mind, even though she has not done anything to change the way she is moving. She does not know why. He should already be enraptured by her: everyone should. She needs no illusion to have power over him. But she uses it anyway.

She uses it anyway.

En pointe. Ballet, one of her fiercest passions. One of the few things she’s good at. One of the only things she cares about. One of the things that fuels her rage and helps keep it under wraps.

She stretches her leg up, higher, exerting the control she has always been born with. The energy that runs through her veins and turns her heart to soaring, shifting bands of energy. She pivots, looking at herself in the mirror and smiling.

She is beauty. She is grace. She is deadly.

With Dustin watching, with power surging through her veins, illusion dancing on her fingers, and electricity crackling along her spine, Madeline dances.

When she does so, she can bring the world down.

**-o-**

Jenna Rolan looks at her computer monitors and tries not to cry.

She’s wearing liquid eyeliner and mascara. If she cries, everyone will be able to tell. If she cries, people will watch.

If there’s one thing she learned being popular, it’s this: someone is always watching, waiting to witness you crumble.

If there’s another thing she’s learned in this almost popularness, it’s that popular kids will watch, but they often don't know how to see.

Sometimes, the crowd seems easier to disappear in than other days. Those are the days when she grits her teeth and starts a vicious rumor about some random kid that she wants to see hurt.

They talk about bullies feeling scared and insecure in those anti-bullying talks the schools are required to give. They talk about power. And everyone wants it, and needs it, just a little bit. They talk about how whatever harassment that’s being committed helps the bully feel better.

Well, they were right. Gossip gives Jenna status, gives her a right to walk down those hallways and not be pushed frugally aside. Gossip gives her a right at the table, where she would vanish if she didn't have something to be there for. Gossip keeps her from turning into the fat girl whose lunch tray gets smacked down without fail each day. Gossip keep her from getting talked about.

Gossip protects her. Popularity protects her. So weakness is not something she will ever willingly show.

Jenna Rolan is a bully.

She is one of the most cutthroat, notorious bullies in the school. By default, that means Brooke Lohst is a bully. Chloe Valentine is definitely a bully. Jake Dillinger is a bully with his heart two steps away from kindness. Dustin Kropp is a bully. Rich Goranski is most certainly a bully, possibly the worst by far.

The only people she knows who are not bullies are the ones getting bullied. Christine Canigula, who is just in the way, and pesky. Jeremy Heere, the loser with a sensitive heart. The people who have no one else to fight.

She knows her victims personally, sometimes. She will look them right in the eye as she does her work, pulling her spiderweb threads closer and closer. Jeremy is a prime example.

She doesn't despise him. Doesn't even dislike him. He’s nice, and kind, and everything she wishes she could be. Well, maybe not exactly. But even though they work together, she tears him down at school with a laugh and a text and moves on, because this is what she does and this is what she is meant to do. She shouldn't be seen with someone like him at school. It could jeopardize her future.

She knows Jeremy has become more popular, however, and she's tried to hurt him less and less. Has started to trust him. Has started to welcome him a bit into the life she keeps in order for herself. Has started to lay off the bullying.

She hopes he will never know that the rumors in which he was dating Madeline or was gay or something horrible were caused by her, one of his friends. _Friends_. Someone you should apparently trust. She thinks he would feel betrayed.

Inside, she's kind of numb. It’s why she cries. It’s why she spreads the rumors, desperate to keep from becoming someone different, someone lesser, someone who holds no influence or sway in this place that has become both hell and heaven.

High school, the purgatory of all students.

Here Jenna sits, hoping the redness in her face does not show from beneath her foundation, and can be explained away by a lack of sleep. She can't blame it on the missions this time, because she was in bed.

 _Jenna Rolan had another late night._ That's all they’ll say. No rumors about who might be sleeping with who, because she is Jenna Rolan, the fat girl who no one takes the time of day to talk to instead of at.

She stares at the computer monitor and wonders how she ended up a slave to the screen of society.

“Hey, Jenna,” Chloe mutters, walking into Jake’s basement. Brooke follows her. Jake and Rich enter as well: the popular kids in a basement, none of them knowing why they're here in this situation. Why they're stuck in this mess of being a superhero.

Well maybe someone does. Christine enters behind Rich and shuts the door behind her, in her floral dress and green leggings and striped sneakers.

“Where’s Jerry?” Chloe asks. Christine shrugs, and Jake stares at her for a moment. There’s something going on there.

“Dunno. Guess he bailed on us.”

That makes Jenna mad and sad, for some reason. Mad, because he didn’t care enough to come to this meeting that no one knew why they were holding. Sad, because no one really seems to care. Because no one thinks enough of him to remind him.

He might be the biggest asset they have, but for some reason, everyone is sure they can manage just fine without him.

At least Jenna is confident in her position with the group, because they need her, and she makes sure they never forget it.

She spins back toward the computer desk and picks up her phone.

**_Private message to iamheere_ **

_gossipgirl: hey where are you_

_gossipgirl: we have a meeting today you need to get your ass over here_

Jenna turns back to the conversation, and it turns out Jeremy had a fight with Michael after school. Turns out that Christine confronted him using her powers in a public setting without her disguise. And turns out that Jake did nothing to stop her.

“I was inside the school, how was I supposed to know what she was doing?” Jake protests. Chloe rolls her eyes, voice raising. Christine watches, annoyance written all over her face despite having used her powers and despite the noise.

“Can you guys just stop fighting?” Christine asks, and her voice cuts through the air although it isn’t very loud. “He got in a fight with Michael and got mad. Sorry that he’s ditching us, it isn’t my fault. No one saw, either. He’s just pulling a Jeremy. He’s ditched Michael, we should have known he would do it to us too.”

The bitterness and hurt in Christine’s voice surprises Jenna. She wants to know why. Her fingers itch to grab her phone and start something, just to prove to herself that she has power, influence, control. She wants to stop feeling like this inside.

Like what? She doesn’t exactly want to know.

Apparently she is not the only one who notices. Chloe and Brooke turn to each other, a grin wickedly splitting Chloe’s face. Not for the first time, Jenna is struck with the thought that she is glad they are on the same side. Glad they are heroes, not villains.

She doubts any of them would be able to stand against Chloe or Jeremy if they were villains and in cahoots.

“What’s got your bra in a twist, Christine?” Chloe asks, and Brooke giggles. Jenna just watches. This is what bullying is like: you stand by, or you get hurt instead too.

This is what she lets happen.

“Or do you even wear one?” Chloe snickers, smirking. “Y’know, cause you're so—” Jenna watches as Chloe makes a violent thrusting motion towards Christine. “Flat. How does any guy even like you?”

Christine looks hurt. “That’s not—”

“Or is it—” Chloe turns to Brooke, who’s looking a bit unsure now, because they agreed that they wouldn't fight with each other when they started this group. Because they agreed that the best way to stay alive was to stay together. Was to stick together.

Chloe has triggered what may become war.

“Or is it that maybe you like someone, Christine? Somebody you know you’ll never be with? Come on Christine, just tell us who it is. Am I gonna have to guess? Too scared to make a sound? You know, you should consider buying heels. You’re like, invisible, at that height.”

“Enough, Chloe!” Jake says, and Jenna immediately regrets not saying anything. She should have done something.

Christine sits silently, just staring at Chloe with a wide eyed look.

“Who said what to you?” The short girl asks instead of crying or yelling or leaving or doing anything Jenna would have done.

Should a bully feel this numb?

“No one said anything to me,” Chloe snaps, eyes electric with rage. She wheels on everyone. “No one said anything to me, so shut up! You’re just infatuated over your stupid crush on Jeremy!”

Christine blanks. “What?” She asks, thoroughly confused. “Jeremy? He likes Michael.”

Jenna has to admit, Christine is a very good actress.

“It was Madeline,” Brooke blurts. She doesn’t look at Chloe. The brunette whirls on her. Brooke turns her head away. “Madeline said––she was awful. It’s why Chloe’s mad.”

Jenna looks at the girl in question. She expected to see someone who was hiding all her insecurities, ready to be shattered. Instead, she sees someone righteous, someone powerful, a force to be reckoned with. She sees someone who understands her power and uses it better than anyone else ever could.

She sees someone who would willingly defend one of her own, because she didn't like to feel like she could have done more.

Chloe’s expression hardens, and she storms out, ignoring Brooke’s protest that she doesn’t have a ride. Instantly, the hero image shatters.

Perhaps even the bullies can be bullied.

Jenna closes her eyes, and tries not to cry, because someone is always watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think?
> 
> I know it was a bit disappointing. I’m in the middle of creating a playlist for this, too. 
> 
> Michael is just an abandoned friend, and Jeremy is not okay. Oof. They need help. 
> 
> So my school has a showcase, and I’m in the Revolting Children (from Matilda) number, and we get to jump off chairs. In skirts. So, yikes? But I’ve been paid by the upperclassmen to do the really extra Newsies jump when we jump off the chairs. It’s gonna be lit. 
> 
> Stay lit and give feedback, you guys. Love ya all.


	5. 5| we all need you now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Johnny Boy” by 21 Pilots 
> 
> I know this one has been a while in the making. Sorry about that.

Jeremy ducks as a grenade goes sailing over his head.

He lets out an involuntary screech, tucking and rolling so he doesn't get his ass handed to him. He doesn't even know how this woman even got the grenades, but she’s here and she has them and he’s freaking the fuck out because he’s sleep deprived and off his game.

Jeremy attacks the grenade with a web while it soars overhead. He wraps it up within milliseconds, trying to suffocate the explosion before hurling the grenade up in the air. It clears the roofline before exploding in a grey starburst of smoke and bright flame, like the moss creeping along tree bark.

The woman growls. He doesn't understand how this could have happened. He was just on patrol, just the last couple hours of another Thursday night, and then someone charged him.

The woman pulls a knife and turns heel. Jeremy chases after her, slinging alongside buildings. He watches as she jumps into a car and kicks the man driving it to the middle of the road.

Jeremy shoots a web down just in time and wraps it around the man’s wrist. He jerks him out of the way of another car headed away from the woman. The person inside veers, the driver obviously surprised and unexpectedly confronting the fact that he nearly just killed someone.

“Thanks, Spiderman!” The person Jeremy just rescued shouts. There’s the girl who used to collect coins on the corner, and she stares up at Jeremy with wide eyed respect.

He feels guilty but waves to dismiss the thanks anyway before rushing after the woman. There’s a crowd of people fleeing, all the while shouting things at him. Be it good or bad, the words heighten Jeremy’s already hellish anxiety.

He just wants to go back to being a normal kid, not someone who has to save the city every single day. Just a kid who can study for his tests without having to worry about who got hurt that night. Just a kid who doesn’t have to bear the weight of hundreds of lives on his shoulders.

He darts after the car, running quickly, wondering where she could be going. Where she could possibly think she could hide from him. It’s too bad he doesn’t have Jenna on the line, ready to feed him information. Too bad he doesn’t have somebody to talk to and be brave for. In reality, he’s never brave when he’s by himself. Never brave when he doesn’t have someone to act for, to put on a performance for.

When the woman gets out after three blocks, he’s ready. He webs her to the side of a dumpster, teeth gritted. She struggles, before seeming to realize there is no way to escape.

Jeremy lands in front of her, feet planted apart, dynamic. Bold, like he isn't afraid of anything.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Jeremy intones, pitching his voice deep. “Want to give me a motive for trying to blow people up?”

In response, the woman pulls a pin on a grenade and tosses it with her free arm.

Part of a building away from him explodes, and someone screams. Jeremy realizes that it is him. He launches a web and slings himself over to a lamppost. Why it’s sitting in the middle of a sidewalk, he doesn't know. There’s somebody there, and he needs to get them out.

He slings a web at the woman with the grenades, watching it pin her to the ground and the wall once again before turning his back.

“Hey, is anybody in there?” He yells into the hole in the side of the building. There’s a pain-filled screech from inside, and he swings up into the second story level. Making sure his mask covers his face completely, he focuses and runs.

His senses tell him that there are at least three people on this floor. There’s exactly three levels, and he’s on the second. The damage extends in both directions: horizontally and vertically.

A woman stumbles out of the wreckage, coughing, streaked with dust. The pink skirt she’s wearing has torn up the side in a jagged seesaw. Her dark eyes lock on him and she cries out with relief.

“Spiderman!” The name sounds like an exaltation coming from her. He hates it.

“Hi, miss, how many people were on this floor?” He asks. The woman clutches at his elbows, and he notes that she’s taller than him and quite a bit more confident, despite the situation.

“Four, including me, my daughter, her friend, and my coworker.” Jeremy stifles a cough as she finishes speaking.

“Right. I’m going to get you out of here—”

“My daughter! I can't leave—”

He appreciates her concern, but if she doesn't let him do his job, there won't be a daughter to save. “Lady, I promise, if you come with me, the faster I can save her.”

Jeremy grabs the woman by her waist and slings out of the building. Once he sets her down on the cracked, charred pavement, he rushes back inside.

There’s a girl in her early twenties who drags another unconscious girl behind her. She’s got on a purple shirt and her red hair falls out of its strange braid. She falls to her knees, coughing, choking, crying.

Jeremy sprints towards her, webbing the ceiling to try and keep everything from falling down sooner. The girl looks up.

He never wants to forget the hope that crosses her features.

“Spiderman!”

Jeremy lifts his hand out to her. She drops her friend and runs to him, tear tracks splaying over the freckles on her face. Her brown eyes stare right at him.

“Hey, I—um...stay calm, everything is under control.” He winces, but the girl grabs his hand.

“I’m Ruth, and that’s Ivanna.” The name rolls off her tongue in a faintly Hispanic dialect. Her friend certainly looks the part.

“Okay, just—I’m going to sling us down, okay? You won't fall.”

Jeremy wraps a web around the girl’s—Ruth, probably on a normal day content to watch horror movies and listen to classical music and sip tea—waist, hurtling himself out the window. The woman from before looks up anxiously, like it physically would pain her to turn her eyes away for every the briefest second.

He lowers Ruth to the ground and the woman rushes her, enfolding her in a hug while looking at Jeremy with watery, unseeing eyes. “Where is my daughter?”

Jeremy points up. “I can really only get one person at a time,” he mutters, but desperation crawls in his voice, poison leaking through into his mouth. He shoots upward, tucks himself into a ball and lunges inside the building.

He slides the unconscious girl––Ivanna––into his arms and tries to stop her head from falling back, exposing her fragile throat. He jumps out of the building, slinging and in the middle of the street, the girl’s dark hair sheeting around his shoulders. The mother still has her arm around Ruth..

“I don’t want to set her down here. Get across the street or a few streets away and then I’ll bring her over. I just don’t want you to not be able to move if something happens.” The mother nods, and she and the girl’s friend run across the street, limbs a tangle of frantic nerves and harried movements. Jeremy slings over and places the daughter down.

He doesn't stick around to hear their thanks. That’s not what this part of the job is about. He has people to get out of that building.

Back inside, Jeremy frantically paws through the rubble. He’s tried to web the support beams do they stay sturdy and don't come tumbling down. No one else needs to get hurt.

There’s one last person on this floor. There’s no one up above or down below. He can tell just as easily as he can extend his arms and shoot his webs. There's nothing to it, really.

“Hello?” Jeremy calls, rushing towards the collapsed pile of building inside the second floor. He sifts through everything frantic and despairing and hoping that he made it in time. He should have done everything differently.

He doesn't know how differently he could have done it.

A hand latches on to his wrist, and Jeremy double takes. He clenches his teeth and swallows a scream, high and terrified and agonized with the feeling of fear that he has failed.

Jeremy pulls a man out of the rubble. His left ankle is twisted, maybe broken, but he seems to be walking on it. He’s got glasses that frame his face well, and a strong jawline, phone held up in one hand. He reaches past Jeremy’s arm, to steady himself.

No he doesn't. He reaches for Jeremy’s face, and undoes the mask.

Jeremy screeches and twists the man’s wrist in one hand. He tugs the mask down with the other and snatches the phone.

The man was live-streaming a video. Fuck. Jeremy ends it, terror quaking up and down his spine. His identity was just revealed to anybody watching that, if they paid close enough attention.

“What the hell, man?” Jeremy shouts, angry and afraid and wrong, somehow, like he isn’t fit to walk in the shadow of the profile that his superhero persona has cast. Like he doesn’t deserve it, simply isn’t good enough to help people.

The man backs away a bit, eyes wide. “You’re a kid. You’re just a kid. You’re what, fifteen?”

“I’m nineteen,” Jeremy snaps, although it isn’t true. “Almost twenty. Why would you do that? People can find me now, they’ll hurt the people closest to me, fuck, Michael…” He breaks off, fidgeting. The man still hasn’t said anything.

“You’re not even a drinking adult yet, why would you risk your life to do something like this? Everyone thinks you’re in your late twenties, early thirties.” The dark haired man pushes up his glasses and stares.

“It’s because that’s my job. Nobody else has the power to stop others from getting hurt, but I do. So I have to help them, because nobody else will. When you have the means to do something, it becomes your job to get it done when nobody else can.” He realizes he’s spouting random philosophy from his class sophomore year, and clamps his mouth shut. Still, he can’t resist saying one more thing.

“I have to do this. Even if I can’t, I have to.”

The man stares. Jeremy shakes his head.

“People have already seen the video, but it’s such a bad quality they won’t be able to tell who you are. I’ll tell people you’re around your thirties. I’ll tell people you’re everything you’re not.” Jeremy gapes at him, unsure why this person would be willing to cover for him. “I sell electronics and code things, I could do it. I’ll owe you a favor.”

“What’s your name?” Jeremy asks.

“Fred,” the man says, and Jeremy looks away. This makes everything more real. Knowing a name, knowing a connection, knowing everything is now completely permanent. He can’t say he helped a random person. This is one more person for him to hurt.

“Get out of here, Fred,” Jeremy says, and grabs his arm before slinging them out of the building. The police are there, sirens flashing and wailing. The woman has been handcuffed. Jeremy drops Fred to the ground, adjusts his mask, and runs away.

He feels like he cannot do this any longer.

**-o-**

Jeremy opens the door to his house quietly, not in costume. His suit is stashed in his bag on top of his homework, all bundled and wrinkled and sweaty. It’s pretty much the only thing that keeps him doing the laundry. If not for his suit, he wouldn’t do any of his household chores. He can’t just throw it in there, because his dad could find it, and he really doesn’t want to be in that situation.

He can't even imagine what would happen. Something would, of this he is sure.

His ribs are bruised and cracked from the encounter today. His head aches and a large, discolored bruise lies thick across his cheek when he ducks by the mirror in the hallway. He does not want to go to school tomorrow.

He’s fully aware of the stares that will be sent his way. He skipped both today and yesterday, and endured a call from both Christine and Jake, the latter annoyed and the former semi curious. They're all just bad friends to each other, too wrapped up in the world to acknowledge that they like to care and be cared about. Jeremy is not any better. In fact, sometimes, he is worse.

They aren't even friends, really, and Jeremy is grateful for the friends he does have. Whenever things get tough he talks to Michael, but now he can't even do that. He's fucked everything up. He doesn't even have Michael anymore, and he can't blame the boy for leaving him.

Jeremy is truly a traffic light in every sense of the word. Slowing people down, upsetting them, unwanted and only noticeable when you really hate them. You pray they get out of your way and seconds later they are forgotten about, only remembered to complain.

He chokes out a sob and swallows the tears that come unbidden, hot and rushing and altogether nothing more than a fist to his gut.

Charging up the stairs, he blinks and opens the door to his room. The hot shame is everywhere, really, searing and terrifying and he just wants it to stop.

Really, he just wants everything to stop, to slow down, because it's moving by too quickly for him to catch up with. He cannot handle the expectations everyone has for him. He _cannot_.

There’s a knock on the door, bold and strong and startling. Jeremy lets out a harsh, violent sob, preemptively wiping away nonexistent, breeding tears. He steps outside into the hallway, plodding down the stairs. Each footfall thuds heavily. He doesn't like it.

When Jeremy reaches the door, he stops, breathes, and angles his face away so the bruise is less visible. He swallows, wipes at his surely red face, and swings the door open.

He does not expect to find Michael on his doorstep.

He expected Brooke or Christine to show up, really, maybe Jenna to yell at him for not coming to the meeting that he blew off. He did not expect his best friend, who he’s engaged in stonewalling at the moment.

“Michael?” Jeremy breathes, and his knees go weak because finally, it seems, he has caught up to the world.

“I came to apologize,” Michael mumbles, and he sounds regretful that he's even doing this at all.

“No,” Jeremy splutters. “No. Apology not accepted.”

He expects Michael to be indignant, mad, confused. He expects him to be furious, and blow up and yell and scream and hate him. He needs him to do all of these things.

He does not expect Michael to _shrink_.

“Ok,” Michael mutters again, and his shoulders draw forward horribly, familiarly. “I get that you're still mad at me.” He fidgets with the straps of his backpack, which for some reason, he has even after school ended seven hours ago.

“I know you aren't ready to forgive me, and that's ok. I was horrible to you. But that doesn't change how I feel about our fight, and I wish it never happened at all.”

“Why do you have a backpack?” Jeremy queries, unsure why this is taking him so long to process. He blames his powers.

Michael flames red. “My parents were fighting again.” He sags into himself a little bit more. “I was going to…”

“Come in,” Jeremy demands, hooking his hand around Michael’s arm, soft but still insistent.

The situation with Michael’s parents is strange. They're both good people, kind to both their families and friends. However, when they fight, everything gets mixed up and the screaming starts and Michael has borne the brunt of their frustration multiple times.

He’s figured out that it's usually better to find somewhere to stay for the night, just in case. This usually means Jeremy’s house. However, since they were fighting, Jeremy doesn't know where Michael was going to go.

Michael allows himself to be pulled in, steps hesitating and soft. Jeremy closes the door and angles the left side of his face away from Michael.

It goes too quiet. It’s like walking at the dead of night, waiting for something to happen. Jeremy refuses to ask Michael if he is okay. He’s not sure he even wants to know the answer.

“Talk to me?” Jeremy asks, soft and yet another question. “I’m not mad at you.”

Michael looks up, red faced and teary eyed and confused. “You aren’t?”

Jeremy refuses to look at him. He’s exhausted. He wants to sleep. He wants to make sure everything is alright with Michael. “No. You were right, really. I know I’ve been a shitty friend. I haven’t even been a friend to you lately, and I’m going to fix that. I promise.” He doesn’t stutter or trip or stammer or anything like that. He’s pretty proud, but he’s still loopy from being Spiderman. He’ll mess up soon.

He doesn’t really apologize for his actions.

Michael lets out a soft sigh, one that catches in his throat. Jeremy tries not to stumble, but his head has started to spin. Michael glances once at him, trying not to appear too obvious.

“I know I haven’t been there. And I’ll fix that. There’s just this thing––And I couldn’t…I didn’t know how to––And so I didn’t…” Jeremy breaks off for a moment. “I’ve had a lot going on?” He questions, to himself, shoulders drawing together until his collar bone juts from his neck. “And I know that isn’t an excuse. I know. I just…” He breathes, tries to remember what he’s trying to say.

“Don’t.” Michael reaches for his hand, ends up gripping air awkwardly before moving his hand through his hair. “Don’t blame yourself. Can we just…can we stop fighting about it? Whatever we were fighting about? Can it just stop?”

Jeremy turns his head to him as he trips up the stairs to his bedroom. His lips stretch into a smile. “I’d like that.”

Michael drops his bag down by Jeremy’s and looks up. His eyes zero in on his left cheek.

“What happened?” He asks, and this time Jeremy is the one with the wide eyes.

“Oh, this? I, uh…” He trails off. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck_.

“Somebody hit you.” Michael’s voice falls flat.

“Not necessarily,” Jeremy mutters, cursing himself. He doesn't have the quickest reaction time.

One of his knees decides at that moment to give out, and he staggers forward. Michael’s eyes widen and he hovers. One of his warm, large hands hovers near Jeremy’s back as if he’s unsure how to help.

“Shit, what's been going on?” Michael asks, grabbing Jeremy’s elbow. Jeremy clings onto him, hard and desperate and he really just needs to sit down.

“Nothing, it's nothing, just—”

“This is most definitely not nothing.” Michael begins to lead him to his bed. “Is there something I can do? Have you gotten this checked out?”

Jeremy shakes his head, stumbles, before sinking down into a sitting position. Michael is quick to get there as well, placing himself halfway between Jeremy and the wall. Jeremy sways, dizzy, somehow, wondering what’s been happening to him.

He leans against Michael almost unconsciously, bleary. This is what their relationship has devolved to: Michael picking up his messy pieces, trying to fix him when there’s no way to do so.

“Remember to breathe,” Michael murmurs into his ear. “Can I touch you?”

Jeremy sinks into him with a breathy sigh that sounds like a sob. Michael tugs him against his chest, running his hand down Jeremy’s back. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s shivering. He focuses on Michael’s breathing, slow and steady because he doesn’t understand why he’s hyperventilating.

“Please,” he whispers breathily, and Michael jolts. The taller boy stares down at him, eyes confused and very very hazy.

“Talk to me.”Jeremy relaxes into him, huffing and still trying to catch his breath. “Breathe, please, Jeremy, and tell me what’s wrong.” Normally, he wouldn’t. But things have gotten so bad that he can’t even focus on what he’s trying to accomplish.

“Please breathe, oh my gosh,” Michael mutters under his breath. Jeremy inhales sharply, trying to find something to hold onto. His hand fists softly in the fabric of Michael’s hoodie. It’s tactile, soft and well worn. He clings on to it, trying not to let Michael notice how desperate he is to be done with the whole entire thing.

“Did you take your medicine this morning?” Michael asks.

“I didn’t have enough time,” Jeremy mutters, even though really he did, he skipped school today, it just messes with his perception when he uses his powers.

“Where is it?” Michael asks, sitting up and beginning to slide Jeremy into lying down. Jeremy refuses to let go. “Jer, come on, I’m gonna get it for you.” Jeremy tries to breathe, but Michael’s hand closes on his and he forgets how to do it all over again.

“In my bag,” he gasps, raw and strangled. It’s all he can think about, really, how he cannot _breathe_ , how he is drowning inside his own mind, how his lungs have finally had enough and decided to kill him. He is so _scared_.

Michael finally detaches his hold and pushes him onto the bed, shoulders first, gently but still somehow frantically. “Is your dad in the area?” He asks, and curses when Jeremy shakes his head.

His fingers tear from Michael’s sweatshirt when the other boy moves to get off the bed. Jeremy closes his eyes, sure that he will not be getting much sleep tonight. His dreams will be full of fitful tossing and blaring screams. He hears Michael unzip his bag.

For the very first time in Michael’s presence, the sixth sense goes off.

“What the…” There’s a pause. “Jeremy?”

The suit. He found the suit.

“Is this…?” Michael cuts off.

Fuck.

His breathing increases and there’s something wrong, there’s something wrong, but _fuck_ , Michael’s found out his secret.

“I wanted to––I couldn’t… I––“

Suddenly Michael’s at his side, hands tugging him back and propping his head up. “Do you feel like you’re going to faint? Raise your feet a bit.” Jeremy refuses, holding onto his breath and for a moment stopping his breathing.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. I promise, I’ve got you, try to breathe for me.” Michael cards a hand through his hair, soft and gentle and Jeremy tries not to cry.

It should not be this bad.

He closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists and then he can _breathe_ again. He takes a big, gasping breath and then he can sort of control it again. He shudders, stops his shaking, counts to ten.

He’s calm within about three minutes. That isn’t normal.

When he gets control of himself, he bolts into a sitting position and scoots to the other end of the bed. He shoves his head in his hands and does not move a muscle.

“Why do you have a replica of the Spiderman suit in your backpack?” Michael asks quietly, confused. Jeremy sucks in a breath. “Jeremy? Does this have any reason with why you’re…never mind.”

Jeremy doesn’t move.

“It’s a really good replica though,” Michael says, a bit of excitement creeping into his voice. “The design is really unique.” He swallows, as if unsure how to phrase something. Jeremy feels a hot rush of guilt.

“It’s not a replica,” he blurts, saying nothing more, hating himself with every passing second.

“What?” Michael queries, confused.

Jeremy looks up, hair wrecked, face splotchy, desperation painting his face. “I wanted to tell you. I did, I couldn’t watch you get hurt because of me. I had to––I thought I would find a way to––I thought I could get rid of––I’m so sorry.”

Michael studies him: messy hair, heaving chest, hate in his eyes, all aimed inward. “You’ve lost me.”

Jeremy stares at him, full of red rimmed eyes and despair and terror. Michael scoots closer and Jeremy sucks in a huge breath before moving away.

“I’m Spiderman.”

Michael just looks at him. “Huh?”

“I’m Spiderman.”

It seems to sink in the second time around. Michael looks at Jeremy, and his eyes grow huge. Jeremy closes his eyes against the tears and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“So the guy who swings around and nearly dies every single day is…you?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that where you got the bruise?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this why you’ve been ditching me?”

“...Yeah.”

“This is why you've looked stronger?”

“Yeah.”

Michael looks at him, and for once Jeremy wants to look away. He doesn't want to see Michael’s eyes because he knows he is the source of everything wrong in them.

“This is really cool.” Michael's voice falls flat, sounds compressed. Jeremy knows that feeling. He reaches right, smashes his fist into the side of his ribs until something caves. Michael doesn't notice. He looks stunned.

Jeremy’s cell phone blares. Both of them jump, startled. The sound cuts through the tension.

Jeremy feels a pressure build up in his throat.

He grabs it, because that is the ringtone for important people, and he needs to answer it.

“Jeremy!” Jenna screams from the other end of the phone. Jeremy flinches, curling into himself. Michael looks at him, confused again.

“Hi, Jenna.” Flat, hollow, like he is draining away.

“Turn on your TV, okay?”

“Why.” He doesn't ask. Really, he should.

“Just do it, Jeremy!”

He stands shakily, as if he’s in a trance. When he sways, Michael grabs him by the arm. Jenna continues to instruct him from the other end of the phone. He doesn’t look at Michael as he walks downstairs and hunts for the remote.

“Why do I need to watch it, Jenna?” His voice at last contains a touch of life. Michael looks at him sharply. Jeremy overturns a pillow but loses his grip.

He doesn’t look away from the place it landed.

There’s something so pathetic about it that has him gasping, hooked and stuck, noticing everything and nothing.

“Jeremy?”

“Jer?” Michael questions, eyes clouded behind his glasses.

Fuck, the nickname. He’s a sucker for the nickname.

“Why do I need to watch it, Jenna? Are they just slamming on Spiderman again, how I don’t do enough? I’m fine, Michael,” he adds.

“Wait, Michael? Jeremy, you just––“

“I know, Jenna,” Jeremy butts in, eyes closing briefly. “He knows. I messed up. Fuck, I messed up so fucking bad, you have no idea.”

“Fuck,” Jenna breathes. “Meeting in ten? I’m with Chloe and Brooke at Jake’s. He and Rich are grabbing takeout. Should I tell them to pick up Christine?”

Jeremy shrugs, although he knows she can’t see him. “Yeah, I guess, I don’t run this group. There’s something I gotta tell you guys, too. It’s important.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I’ll be there. Michael’s coming. I’m so fucking sorry, Jenna.”

He hangs up before he can hear her yell at him. Before she can say something that will shoot around in his brain like a pinball machine.

It doesn’t have to be an expensive trick to work.

“Did you drive over here?” Jeremy asks, turning to face Michael, who looks confused. Jeremy softens. He’s undoubtedly throwing stone after stone at Michael, expecting him to catch them all.

“I’m Spiderman, Michael,” he repeats, trying to formulate his thoughts.

Michael whispers something inaudible, face stricken. Jeremy blinks, staring down at his phone. The group chat is buzzing, with exactly three people telling him to turn on his TV.

“What did you say?” Jeremy asks mildly. Michael shakes his head. Jeremy frowns a bit. “Okay. Would you mind driving us to Jake’s house? I’ll give you the address.”

“Since when do you hang out at Jake’s house?”

Jeremy stops, sinks onto his couch. What has he dragged Michael into? What has he done?

“Since this started,” Jeremy whispers, throat caught. “I'll explain on the way, okay? If you want to come?” He swallows, but Michael does not respond.

“I've been a shitty friend to you, lately. I know. It's not that I didn't trust you, I just—and then we were actually fighting and—somehow this just got so much more real—and really, you should be—”

He breaks off. “I know you're confused about everything that has been going on, and here’s a chance to learn some answers. I've always thought you—well, you know my secret now, and you _should_ know. Will you come with me?”

Michael stares down at him. “Why did you keep this from me?”

Jeremy sinks down into the couch, eyes downcast. “At first it was to pr—I wanted to tell you but—someone could have—I’ll explain in the car, if you come?”

Michael thinks it over, thoughts churning. Jeremy studies his face, resisting the urge to fix his glasses and hug him until they both fall asleep. He’s just so exhausted. This day has become too much for him to handle.

“I’ll come,” Michael consents, holding out a hand to help Jeremy up. “But you owe me an explanation in the car. I don't expect everything.”

He turns, and walks away. Jeremy follows, aware that something is wrong with the way Michael is acting. He needs to fix it. He doesn't know how.

He’s just grateful to have Michael with him, finally able to breach the impossible distance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback down below! I really appreciate it!
> 
> (Also showcase went fantastic and You Will Be Found made everyone cry, and I got an impromptu solo in Run Freedom Run from Urinetown, and everything was fantastic)


	6. 6| lying’s all i’ve learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!! finally back and so glad to be here! Just a bit of an excuse....well, I have a lot of them, actually, but I promise I’m here to work hard! I’ve been really busy with my school’s drama department and then with school, and it turns out I’m a National Gold Medalist for the short story I submitted, so I’ve been busy with the things that come with that, and to top it all off, I’m writing a book, which I may or may not post on here as an original work at some point in time. On top of that, my mental health is quickly and surely falling down the drain and so I’ve been dealing with that as well as number of lesser things, and falling head deep into the Newsies fandom and having that obsession block out all my other ones. But i’m back!
> 
> Chapter title from Be Concerned by 21 Pilots because I’m trash

Jeremy tells Michael as much as he can conceivably manage in the drive to Jake’s.

He tells Michael about waking up in Chloe’s house trapped, claustrophobic, aware that there was something wrong and that something was different. He tells Michael how Jake and Rich freed him, about liking Christine, about how Brooke floated up off the couch and everyone stared at them like they were freaks.

He tells Michael about how Christine’s sonic yell threw Rich against the wall. How he had realized that he knew no one there. He paints into a picture the moment where Rich had defended and incriminated every single person in the room. He tells Michael about how everyone had sworn themselves to secrecy. How they had stared one another down and known that if someone told they would die.

He tells Michael about how three days later, Jenna had discovered her technological expertise. He explains how they discovered it was a power. How she was able to manipulate technology––any type, no matter if she had seen it or not––to the ability of some hacker years in the making. How she could gesture and the digital world would leap to her every command.

He tells Michael about how he and Jake and Rich had been talking, a week from the first power debacle, when Rich’s entire body had burst into flames. He conveys in a quiet tone how Jake had shoved him into the empty locker room and used the fire extinguisher while Jeremy had webbed up all the smoke alarms. He tells him how Rich had screamed, eyes wide, grabbing at his arms, completely unhinged. He tells him how Jake had rushed to him and kicked Jeremy out.

He tells Michael about how Chloe had discovered she could transfer powers to others when Christine had started to float upside down. He tells him how they had experimented and used trial and error, and the one time that they had accidentally set the basketball hoop on fire because apparently Jenna has really bad aim.

He tells Michael how they discovered Jake could heal. He tries to depict every detail of how he had driven Jeremy home, gash barely concealed under a blanket. He explains at how, under Jake’s touch, it had closed. He tries to recount how they had stared, bright and startled and relieved, because here was something that was important and tangible and altogether useful.

He tells Michael about how much he wanted to tell him everything, about how scared he was that Michael would get hurt because of him. He tells Michael about how there were countless times when he almost fucked everything over to tell him because he hates keeping secrets from him. He tells Michael how bad he’s felt over the whole thing.

He grips his forearms and tries to explain everything in the twenty minute drive to Jake’s house. He doesn’t even make it halfway through the list of things he needs to say. He only got through the beginning.

“Okay. Okay. To recap: Christine is Songbird, Brooke is Breeze, Rich is the Bicon, and you’re Spiderman. Jake can heal people. Jenna does technology. Chloe does this weird thing. And they know I’m coming.” Michael’s voice falls under the category of stunned. Jeremy wants to apologize again, but his throat is so clogged he fears he won’t even be able to speak to the person he trusts most in the world.

“They should,” Jeremy agrees softly, his world still spinning. He steadies his splayed fingers across the seat, long and bold.

“Shit,” Michael exclaims, parking on the curb. This is Jake’s street, his house, Jeremy notices. “What happened to your hands?”

Jeremy looks down, mentions of spanish verbs floating in his head. He doesn’t see anything wrong. “What do you mean?”

Michael reaches for him, takes his hand. Jeremy sucks in a huge gasp, mind going a mile a minute. Michael’s hands are warm, contrasting to the icy cold of Jeremy’s own. The dark haired boy raises his fingers up, scrutinizing carefully. His eyes grow large behind his glasses.

“Why the hell are they so _big_?” Michael asks, flushing a strange color in the darkness. “Last I remembered, your hands were smaller than mine.” He does not say anything about how he has held those hands more than should be proper. Jeremy knows. Jeremy remembers those instances when Michael will hold onto him. His hands used to be so much bigger than his own. Now his fingers unfurl twice as long.

The words themselves cause Jeremy to flush a deep scarlet, bright and embarrassing and vivid. The color bruises itself across his cheekbones. “I––They changed,” he stumbles, biting his lip as if he can’t figure out what to say next. “Over the course of––they got spidery. Because of my powers, I guess.”

Surprise crosses Michael’s face yet again, and his grip on Jeremy’s hand grows tighter. Jeremy flushes again, entire face bright red now, surely. It’s more to do with the way Michael is holding his hand than the fact that he is. He’s got his left hand underneath, thumb brushing over the knuckles. His right hand curls around his wrist, resting Jeremy’s hand on his palm, thumb encircling the still-too-skinny portion of his wrist.

“It can change you like that?” Michael queries, more mystified than frightened. “I’d hate that.”

Jeremy looks at him steadily. “Not really that bad, I guess. I don’t––I get no say in anything that happens to me.”

The steadiness wavers, disappears. His heart pounds so hard it’s all he can hear in his ears. Michael studies him, long and thoughtful.

“You do seem different,” he states. “I don’t know how I haven’t seen it before.”

“This is not your fault,” Jeremy replies, equally as soft. “How have I changed?” He needs to know how strange and alienated he has become.

“You stand differently,” Michael says, breath ghosting from his lips. “Like you’ll move any second. You used to be a lot steadier, like you didn’t have to leave anything behind.” Leave anyone behind, he means, referring to himself. He doesn’t have to say a word. Jeremy can just _tell_.

“You flinch more, but it's more of a constant flinch now. Not startled. It’s like… you’re waiting for the world to fall down on your shoulders.” Michael’s hands move up to smooth over Jeremy’s shoulders. He presses down gently, and back, trying to get rid of the hunched posture he carries with him all the time now. Jeremy jerks in surprise but relaxes, no, _melts_ , into the touch, surprised and nervous.

“You’re thinner,” Michael mutters, scanning Jeremy with some all-invasive look that Jeremy wants trained on him forever. He moves a hand from Jeremy’s shoulders to slide down his arm, thumb brushing across his ribs. Jeremy sucks in a quiet breath, eyes wide. He’s enraptured by Michael’s voice, by his hands, by everything about him.

He wonders how Michael can speak so gently to him, because he knows there is nothing about him that deserves the gentleness.

“And here,” Michael murmurs, soft and warm and really, Jeremy just wants to curl up into him and find a way to let go. “Here, you’re so hollow? You never used to be like this.” He brings his hands up and his fingers poke into the dip in Jeremy’s cheeks. He holds him there for a moment, staring directly at him. Jeremy realizes his lips have parted, and he tries to swallow without it being too noticeable.

“Michael?” He asks, and it’s soft, enraptured. He wants to kiss Michael, pull him closer and be pressed against the window. In response, the other boy runs his thumb across the line of Jeremy’s jaw. “Michael, what are you doing?”

Admittedly, not his best response. Michael leaps away. Jeremy looks at him, wide-eyed, stunned, missing the touch.

“I don’t––that is, uh––“

“Let’s just go in,” Jeremy interrupts, heart sinking. Michael nods in relief and practically jumps out of the car.

The two march up to Jake’s front door. Before they get there, it flies open with an almighty shove. Out storms Rich, furious.

“Jeremy Heere!” He screeches, fisting his hand in the front of Jeremy’s jacket. Jeremy yelps, pushing away. “What the _fuck_ have you done?”

Jake ducks out the door just as Rich swings a full fist at Jeremy. Jeremy twists away, unable to avoid it. Rich hits him twice more, fists smoking. He’s yelling obscenities, and Michael backs up.

“Rich!” Jake screeches. He grabs his friend and hoists him over his shoulder in one powerful move, seemingly unaware that the short boy could burst into flame at any minute. Jeremy stares at them, unsure what Rich is yelling about.

“Jeremy, get inside, we gotta be careful.” Jeremy watches Jake ignore the pounding fist hitting his back. The taller boy ushers both him and Michael inside, Rich still shrieking incomprehensibly.

Jeremy shuts the door, and the lights take a minute to adjust to. The door to the basement is open, and Chloe’s yelling. Jeremy can hear her anger crackle in her voice. Michael backs up into Jeremy, not trying to hide, but trying to remove himself from the object of attention.

Brooke comes skittering up the steps. “Jeremy! Oh thank God.” She tugs him into a tight hug. Jeremy starts to stumble backward, but his powers keep him anchored. He’s at the phase where the loopiness is vanishing.

“What?” He asks, and Brooke grabs both him and Michael by the hands and tugs them down to the basement. Jake follows, Rich still thrown over his shoulder, grumbling now. They walk down the stairs quickly, and Chloe’s shouting halts.

Michael’s mouth drops open completely when he sees the basement.

For a moment, Chloe looks pleased with his reaction, before she stands up and slaps Jeremy full across the face.

He catches her wrist as her hand passes, holds it tight. “What the hell? Why is everyone hitting me today?”

“Cause you're stupid!” Chloe shrieks. “We agreed to not say anything about this to anyone!”

Jeremy glares at her. “He found my suit! And I trust him! I’m not going around broadcasting my identity, so I think we’re okay, Chloe. I didn’t want things to turn out this way either but at least we don’t have to lie to him anymore.”

Jenna stares at Christine in pure astonishment. The shorter girl looks back and shakes her head.

“What do you mean?” Chloe asks. “I’m not pleased that you…shit, what happened? You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy grumbles. “It was a rough day.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean…you seriously look like you died.” Christine studies him intensely while Chloe cuts off.

“I wish,” Jeremy mutters sardonically, leaning against the wall, drained. The traffic-light-feel washes back over him, draining and paralyzing. Michael closes a hand around his elbow, strong and solid, despite his confusion and astonishment. Jeremy leans into him, closing his eyes.

After a moment, he notices Christine eyeing him slyly. “You two made up?” She asks, smiling a bit. Jeremy nods, feeling like he’s being dragged. He feels like he is a hypothetical situation. Everything about him is unreal. Gravity has betrayed him. He’s floating upward and sinking down.

“Yeah. And then he found my suit. In all reality, why am I here?”

Jenna motions for everyone to sit down. Jeremy claims the two beanbag chairs, while Rich takes reign in his swivel. Michael scoots the beanbag away from Rich and closer to Jeremy. The shorter boy resists the urge of satisfaction.

“Have you not seen TV?” Jenna asks, flipping her fingers in strange motions. The TVs and projectors turn on, filling the room with news articles and muted videos. Each has a headline too similar for comfort— **_THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN: IDENTITY CAUGHT ON CAMERA IN CRISIS_**

Jeremy curses, loud and wide eyed. This is bad, very bad, worse than he could have dreamed. He had hoped Fred’s friends wouldn't really be paying attention. He had hoped no one would be able to capture the video.

“Jeremy, what _happened_ tonight?” Brooke questions, cautious.

“I fucked up,” Jeremy responds. He places his head in his hands, feeling like he’s let go of a rope. The world rushes up at him, pulling him towards it. He needs to scream.

“There was this guy—I was getting people out and he—everyone else was out. And he was stuck so—when I pulled him out he was—I thought he was just holding his phone up—and he reached for—and he grabbed my mask and took it off.

“So I took his phone and ended—He was streaming a live video? Like, shit, in the middle of these explosions. He caught me on camera for—just for a second. I'm sure it was enough for—there’s gotta be somebody talented enough to find it again and clear it up. But I did––there was nothing I could––no way to stop him. I don’t––I tried.”

He ends lamely, face buried in his hands. He’s a mess. He’s a stuttering mess.

“Fuck,” Chloe mumbles.

“Jeremy,” Jake starts, then stops. “How are we gonna fix this?”

“He said––he told me that he would tell people––that when people asked him about me he would say different things. He was like, ‘you’re just a kid.’ And I am, God, I am… I still have more tact than that. I just… I messed up. I really messed up.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Christine tells him, wide eyed. Jeremy shakes his head.

“No, you don’t understand, I really messed it up this time. I put you guys in danger too, because I couldn’t stop one guy…” He buries his head in his hands, feeling sick.

“Jeremy, listen. You reacted better than any of us would have, I think. You didn’t threaten the guy, you didn’t…” Rich pauses, thinks. Jeremy shakes his head.

“We just gotta be careful from now on. Jenna, is there any way for you to go online and remove it completely?” Jeremy asks, and Jenna nods.

“Of course, let me…” she rushes to the computer monitor and stares right at it, teeth clenched and shoulders back. It strikes Jeremy how lucky they are to have her. Surely she knows by now, that they need her and appreciate her. Without Jenna, this entire operation would come crashing to the ground.

Someone must have told her, she must know, so he doesn’t say a thing.

“You mean destroy every trace of it?” She asks. “How would I…” The room grows silent as she taps on the keyboard.

“Try tracing it from his account and moving through the router to get where you need,” Michael inputs, walking over to the computer to stand by Jenna. “It has a back door so you can get in through the site if you know how. They won’t be able to trace it.”

Jenna looks up, surprised. “You know how to do this?”

“I don’t have many friends,” Michael shoots back in return, smiling slightly. “Had to keep myself busy somehow.” Jake trades a look with Rich and grins slightly.

“What other ways would you keep yourself busy?” Rich asks, chuckling. Somehow, his anger has dissipated.

Michael flushes bright red. “Don’t,” he mutters, and Jeremy looks at them in confusion. He doesn’t understand what they’re up to.

“I’m in,” Jenna calls, triumph beaming across her face. “Any data that they have for the video has been completely erased. It’s like there was never anything there at all.”

There goes one of the few signs that he was worth anything at all.

Everyone turns to him and he realizes he must have said something out loud. Must have said _that_ out loud, to be getting those pitying expressions from Christine and Michael.

“Jeremy.” Said boy turns to look away, unwilling to stare at Michael as he lectures him. “We’re talking about this when we get home, okay?”

“No we aren’t,” Jeremy grumbles, but concedes to let himself be dragged over to the computer monitor. “Hey, Jenna, could you do some background research on the guy who posted the video? Not now, but later?”

Jenna nods, waving her hand. “Seems like we’ve got this under control: I say we relax, let loose, and just take it as we come across it. Sound like a plan?”

No one says anything. They all eyeball each other, and Jeremy notices Rich studying Jake with a tense jaw. He wonders what sort of conversations the two have been having.

“I guess it doesn’t seem to be as much of a mess as we thought,” Chloe mutters. “With the video, at least. How are we gonna deal with Michael knowing though?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “He’s my best friend, I would never tell anyone. I’m surprised you think I would.” Chloe shoots him a burning look, full of ice and anger and heat.

“We just have to make sure,” Jenna says placatingly. Everyone looks at her, and she swivels back to her computer. With a flick of her hand, the monitor shuts off.

Jeremy feels so lost, like he doesn’t know where to start. Drifting, loopy. He leans against the wall, surveying everyone. These are the people he trusts with his life, despite the fact that he hardly knows any of them. He has to trust him. If he doesn’t there will be no future for him. For any of them, really.

“We have to trust one another. That’s all this comes down to. No more hiding anything, okay? Anything. We hurt too many––too many things get mixed up and lost when we lie.” Jeremy turns to Michael. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I had to, I hope you know that, but I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”

“We can’t keep doing this,” Christine mutters, sounding almost bitter in the delivery of her sentence. “We’re driving ourselves apart. Don’t you see how quick you are to judge––all of you? All of us? Rich, the first thing you did tonight was attack Jeremy…doesn’t that say something about us as a group?”

“What are you trying to say?” Rich snaps. Jake and Brooke both shoot him a sharp look, and he rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I get it. Don’t yell at Jeremy anymore for things that are probably still his fault.”

“Would you stop that?” Brooke interjects sharply, crossing her arms. “Every time we say something you bite our heads off. We’re trying to fix problems, not create more. Do you want to tell us what’s going on with you, Rich?”

Rich grumbles something underneath his breath, tense. Jake rolls his eyes again, standing up.

“I hate this,” Jake mutters. “We’ve gotta get this figured out. Why we keep doing this.” He twists his hands through his hair and suppresses a yawn.

“It’s too late to be doing anything,” Jeremy mumbles. Christine and Jenna both mumble the same in agreement. “I say we just cast aside our differences and take the days as they come to us, alright? We just have to trust each other.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rich mutters, and yelps when Jake elbows him. “Fine. Fine. Truce?”

Jeremy notes that they sound like they’ve been fighting a war, and maybe they have.

“Truce,” he agrees, looking around to include everyone in the power and meaning of his statement. He wants them all to know that they have to speak up now or they won’t be allowed to complain about it later.

“Michael, will you take me home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such a filler chapter, but I needed to post something and this was as good as any. I know the ending is rushed, and I apologize for that. Please comment!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you want to reach me just give me ask. Feel free to come scream at me. 
> 
> Also, I have a ton of Pinterest boards solely for this fic. Here’s the link: 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/dusingclara/
> 
> Just copy and paste it and you should get there just fine
> 
> Basically as an overview for powers: Jeremy is Spiderman, Christine can control sound waves, Brooke can technically fly, Jake can heal other people, Rich is pyrokinetic with a lot of exceptions, Chloe is a gifter, and Jenna can control technology. Everyone except Rich can technically heal themselves but only to a certain extent. It takes time and Jake can get everything done in like a minute. 
> 
> Please leve kudos and comment! I crave validation so please tell me what you thought.


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